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She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the f...more

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So much of a novelist’s writing … takes place in the unconscious: in those depths the last word is written before the word appears on paper. We rememb...more

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He couldn't tell that this was one of those occasions a man never forgets: a small cicatrice had been made on the memory, a wound that would ache when...more