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You may get to know me, but you’ll never know me through. / My whole surface is turned toward you, / all my insides turned away.

— Wislawa Szymborska, from Poems: New & Collected; “Conversation with a Stone,”
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It’s pouring, the trees are getting greener before my eyes, I love you. I’m almost afraid of the intensity of this happiness.

— Vladimir Nabokov, from Letters to Véra (via kvtes)

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