"Ah, ravishing organic beauty, not done in oils or stone, but made of living and corruptible matter, full of the feverish secret of life and decay!"
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"   We lie all our life long, especially indeed, perhaps only, to those people who love us.   "
Marcel Proust, The Fugitive, trans. Moncrieff, Kilmartin, and Enright (via proustitute)
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