Amanda Filipacchi
American writer.
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Lynn stalked. She had taken up stalking for health reasons, but it was not paying off as handsomely as she had hoped.
I bring Laura to the edge of the clapping crowd, and I watch her sink, becoming engulfed in the sea of clapter.
I am a man without many pleasures in life, a man whose few pleasures are small, but a man whose small pleasures are very important to him. One of them is eating. One reading. Another eating while reading.
For months I had been trying to be less myself.
Reality is so dull, Alan thought. Any mistake in one’s perception of it is inevitably more interesting than the real thing, and lucky are those who remain uninformed of their error.
“One of my greatest pleasures in life is promising myself I will not drink, or smoke, or take coke, or do heroin, or eat cookies, then doing it. It’s a pleasure that can be repeated daily.”
"My gift to you will be to take away your freedom of choice for a while. Freedom can be very unhealthy and unproductive. Instead, you’ll have freedom from choice.”
His body was now very close to hers, and he dared to bring his hand under her skirt.
“Where is your underwear?” he asked.
“I lost it.”
“Where?”
“In the garden. It fell off when I was spying. I didn’t have time to retrieve it.”
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