This page is Antartica.
This page is the top of Everest.
This page is one of the loneliest places in the world.
This page is the exact distance from me to you.
— The Book of Blank Pages

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Crush the fragile enough and the remnants become immovable, that’s how mountains are made:
cores bleeding to fill the cracks;
deformities rising in a universe falling.
— My Father's Hand Is a Mountain Range

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