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Quote by Dana Bate

“You don't even know me anymore," I say. "Sydney, I know you better than almost anyone. Certainly better than this clown." "Hey!" Jeremy lunges for Zach again, but I push him back with my arm. "Well, I would hope someone who dated me for eight freaking years would know me a little better than someone who's dated me for a few months," I say. "But he knows me now---the Sydney who worked in TV news and lost her job and works at the farmers' market and had her heart broken by a guy who cheated on her with some bimbo named Georgina. You don't know that Sydney. You gave up on her a long time ago.”

Quote by Dana Bate

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A Second Bite at the Apple

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Dana Bate

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“...and yet they are always absorbed in the things that go to make up their existence. Formerly, I lived in just the same way myself. But now I feel no contact here. They talk too much for me. They have worries, aims, desires, but I cannot comprehend. I often sit with one of them in the little BierGarten and try to explain to him that this is really the only thing, just to sit, quietly, like this. They understand, of course, they agree. They may even feel it so too. But only with words, only with words. Yes, that is it, they feel it, but only with half of themselves. The rest of their being is taken up with other things. They are so divided in themselves, that none feels it with his whole essence.”

“Compromise in what you let into your body and your home through what you see and hear will eventually land us in a place where we wonder how we even got there. Sound familiar? Whenever you hear about a pastor or someone whose life just blew up and you could never see it coming, it means that at some point in their journey, they did not fight back against the simple yet convincing lies of Satan. Simply put, they did not engage in spiritual warfare. What started out as what seemed like an innocent seed grew and eventually took that person out. Kill the lie; fight back against the darkness when it is in infant form before it overtakes you or your family.”

“I don't have anything as exotic as saffron. I hope a jar of blackberry jam will do. As you know, I write often about picking wild native blackberries. It's a chore since they're not easy game like the big purple bubbles that grow all over the sides of the road around here. Whenever I set out to hunt for a hidden patch in an old clear-cut, Francis accuses me of looking like a hobo with my canvas sunhat, khaki trousers, and Folgers cans tied over my shoulders. I don't care. When I'm in the brambles, I'm happy as a clam at high tide. Just writing to you about it makes me wish for July mornings. There's always a perfect moment when the sun strikes the bushes and a deep, sweet, earthy smell rises into the air.”