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Strange where our passions carry us, floggingly pursue us, forcing upon us unwanted dreams, unwelcome destinies.
Her alleged abilities to sift the sands of daydreams until she produced the solid stuff, golden realities.
Her power resided in her attitude: she behaved as though she believed she was irresistible.
She sounds the way bananas taste.
Some cities, like wrapped boxes under Christmas trees, conceal unexpected gifts, secret delights. Some cities will always remain wrapped boxes, containers of riddles never to be solved, nor even to be seen by vacationing visitors, or, for that matter, the most inquisitive, persistent travelers. To know such cities, to unwrap them, as it were, one has to have been born there. Venice is like that.
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