"Because each of you has his or her own death, you carry it with you in a secret place from the moment you're born, it belongs to you and you belong to it."

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Then I played the song that hides in the center of me. That wordless music that moves through the secret places in my heart. I played it carefully, strumming it slow and low into the dark stillness of the night. I would like to say it is a happy song, that it is sweet and bright, but it is not.

— Patrick Rothfuss