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nobody really cared about his opinions on dogs, anyway. They were just being polite. No wonder his books about dogs were selling so poorly! The truth hurt, but he lifted himself
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I didn’t understand me so if they could then what couldn’t I see about myself that was keeping me so ignorant about who or what I was or am? That they couldn’t made me glad.
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I grabbed the Doomsday Book and flipped the pages quickly, and began to read out loud. The words felt heavier with each passing second.
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tell you why I was going there except that it wasn't something illegal."
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Even the two dimensional drawings took up a lot of room, and I was running out of walls to draw things on.
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They all belonged to the same tribe, and twice a year, for one week, they felt normal. They cuddled way more than average people do, and many exotic cocktails were consumed.
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Take, for example, emigrant and immigrant. Note that they are one and the same person. He who is referred to as an emigrant is revered for his courage to pursue a better future
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"That's a clever scheme, man" - I laughed bitterly, probing my wrists against the straps binding them. They didn't budge much more than my sense of compassion was moved by the plea
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doctor, we already know Tim's sick anyway so what's the point?"
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In a hundred years, how much would she weigh then? If they dug her out, would she wake up?
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"THE TRUTH is that you are sheep. I am a sheep. We are all sheep on the inside."
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reminded him, "and the water isn't very deep. We're not stranded."
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his own silent manner, he left life as he left everything else, slipping out the door unnoticed for hours, leaving behind a tangle of problems left to unwind.
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His hands had rested for a moment & the Trouble broth stopped brewing in Hell's kitchen. His Sou'l chefs we were, but nolonger! We scuttled through the pantry of ills: deceit, lust
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"I have seen the light!" I drawled. The sunshine warmed my skin and brought a smile to my face. I thought that I had seen it all, but when I stepped into the light, I found
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Anyone who heard him play had danced his last tango. How can you build a fan base when your audience dies on you? So Frankie (a.k.a. Death) Yankovic asked an image consultant
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decided he wanted to start a fight so I punched him in the mouth and knocked his nose right off his smug face.
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And, like, it's totally awkward, and like annoying, but whatever.
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Not that it would have changed anything, but it seemed so pointless now.
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For you see, truth is often presented as a lofty goal, yet in reality is is nothing more (and nothing less) than P implies P.