She lifted the book to her nose and inhaled the scent lingering in its cardboard bones: a hint of rosewater and Lysol that instantly genie-summoned the Blue Moon Lodge. It was Winnemucca condensed, this book, the only thing she owned that could still predictably take her from here to there.

Succes doesn't not come from having one's work recognised by others. It is the fruit of a seed that you lovingly planted.

Rome fell to the Babarians not because they didn't have the best soldiers but because they were distracted.

Written By Marisha Pessl

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