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Mary Gladys Webb

[W]e are all as full of echoes as a rocky wood–echoes of the past, reflex echoes of the future, and echoes of the soil (these last reverberating through our filmiest dreams, like the sound of thunder in a blossoming orchard). — Mary Gladys Webb, Gone to Earth (Constable, 1917)

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Gustave Flaubert

This sense of my own weakness and emptiness comforts me. I feel myself a mere speck of dust lost in space, yet I am part of that endless grandeur which envelopes me. I could never see why that should be cause for despair, since there could very well be nothing at all behind the black… Continue reading Gustave Flaubert

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