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The perfect words

July 7, 2009

“He could no longer control his own trembling. It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second. At the same time he thought that he would not be able to go on, he knew that he must.”

—J.K. Rowling (via cava
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