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There is a kind of sadness that comes from knowing too much, from seeing the world as it truly is. It is the sadness of understanding that life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto. And in that understanding, there is a profound loneliness, a sense of being cut off from the world, from other people, from oneself.
Virginia Woolf
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T. S. Eliot, from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
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A hydrangea in memory of those who are gone but never forgotten
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Joanna Glenn, from her novel titled "All My Mothers," originally published in 2021
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Diana Galbadon, from "A Breath of Snow and Ashes," originally published in 2005
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Angela Carter, from The Collected Stories; "The Lady of the House of Love,"
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Kim Addonizio, from What Is This Thing Called Love: Poems; "''Round Midnight,"
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Stalker (1979), dir. Andrei Tarkovsky
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90% of the time I just wanna go home.
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Danez Smith, Don't Call Us Dead
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“Sou um depósito de drama, mágoas e palavras não ditas.”
— Fernanda Rebecchi.
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