We were all survivors—every last one of us who limped our way out to the sidewalks that afternoon and spit in Death’s cold face.

We were all survivors—every last one of us who limped our way out to the sidewalks that afternoon and spit in Death’s cold face.

Cat Winters
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Cripes, just listen to that desperation mixed with a wild joie de vivre. That doesn't come out of nothing. They'll be able to hear that a massive eruption once rocked the world and scattered pain and passion in it's wake.

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We were all survivors—every last one of us who limped our way out to the sidewalks that afternoon and spit in Death’s cold face.

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Come along. Let’s get out of here and go toast to youth and vampires and rebellion.

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And all the while Stephen started at me as if I were something magical. Not the ugly way other people sometimes stare at me, like he was meeting someone in a foreign country who spoke his language when no one else could. That's how it's been between us ever since. We understand each other, even when we astound each other.

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Why can't a girl be smart without it being explained away as a rare supernatural phenomenon?

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I love that books allow us to experience other lives without us ever having to change where we live or who we are.

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