Elizabeth Bowen
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Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope it is impossible.
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Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.
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When you love someone all your saved up wishes start coming out.
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Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
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Fantasy is toxic: the private cruelty and the world war both have their start in the heated brain.