Dela Quotes

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na hora de pôr a mesa, éramos cinco:o meu pai, a minha mãe, as minhas irmãse eu. depois, a minha irmã mais velhacasou-se. depois, a minha irmã mais novacasou-se. depois, o meu pai morreu. hoje,na hora de pôr a mesa, somos cinco,menos a minha irmã mais velha que estána casa dela, menos a minha irmã maisnova que está na casa dela, menos o meupai, menos a minha mãe viúva. cada umdeles é um lugar vazio nesta mesa ondecomo sozinho. mas irão estar sempre aqui.na hora de pôr a mesa, seremos sempre cinco.enquanto um de nós estiver vivo, seremossempre cinco

José Luís Peixoto
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Read books and be happy.

Vanessa Dela Cruz
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THE 52ND is a unique entry in the YA and Paranormal genres. With a diverse cast of characters, thrilling mythology, and a potential series ahead, Dela knocks it out of the park with THE 52ND.

Indie Reader
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Vivi muito tempo no mundo das pessoas grandes. Vi-as de bem perto.Não fiquei com muito melhor opinião delas.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince
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He gave me a message for you.” She tightened her lips as if the words soured her mouth.“What is it?”“That you are in his blood.”I looked down at the deck to hide the answering surge within my own blood.“Those are the words of a lover, Eona.

Alison Goodman, Eona: The Last Dragoneye
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«I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time.“Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore.And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic.Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.»

Lisa Schroeder, I Heart You, You Haunt Me
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