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Quote by Ben Sherwood

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Charlie St. Cloud: A Novel

Charlie St. Cloud is a story about Charlie, a young man with a unique gift: he can communicate with the dead. After a tragic accident, Charlie is haunted by the spirit of a girl he once knew, Sam. As they navigate their complex relationship, Charlie grapples with the mysteries of his own past and the possibility of a future without Sam. The novel delves into themes of love, loss, and the nature of existence, offering a touching and thought-provoking narrative. more

Author

Ben Sherwood
Ben Sherwood

Ben Sherwood is an American author born on February 12, 1964. His works span a variety of genres, including novels and non-fiction. Sherwood's writing career began in the field of journalism, where he held editorial and reporting positions at several prominent media organizations. more

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“There are souls beneath that water. Fixed in slimethey speak their piece, end it, and start again:'Sullen were we in the air made sweet by the Sun;in the glory of his shining our hearts poureda bitter smoke. Sullen were we begun;sullen we lie forever in this ditch.'This litany they gargle in their throatsas if they sand, but lacked the words and pitch.”

“Just last night everything had seemed perfect. Well, not perfect. The world was still being tortured with Fey and Lost Souls, but, between Alex and me, everything was amazing. We were connected in every single way possible and not like how we were when we had the Stars energy in us. Everything was raw, breathtaking, moving, blissful. And then poof, once again the feelings are gone. Because hes gone.”

“He knew that these creatures were dead, that they were reanimated echoes who wore the disguise of the people they had once been, but Tom's words rang in his mind. They used to be people. How could he strike them? How could he hurt them? Children, women, old people. Lost souls.”

“There is will in the thought, there is none in the dream. The dream, which is completely spontaneous, takes and keeps, even in the gigantic and the ideal, the form of our mind. Nothing springs more directly and more sincerely from the very bottom of our souls than our unreflected and indefinite aspirations towards the splendours of destiny.”

“I've made a terrible confession to you, he concluded gloomily. Do appreciate it, gentlemen. And it's not enough, not enough to appreciate it, you must not just appreciate it, it should also be precious to you, and if not, if this, too, goes past your souls, then it means you really do not respect me, gentlemen. I tell you that, and I will die of shame at having confessed to such men as you.”