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At first, as I met her, l thought she was lost until she said, “Of the rest of world, I am not afraid,Some of those who inspired me where not from herePeople come to me not to become, but to beI like them the way they are, they add colour to my blue seaI am the friend of the restless, see them as brighter as they can beSee them as they see meRestful in my arms, yet invisible is my nurturing lightThey smile now, nothing more precious to a mother than a happy child who is politeI am the star you want to see, the hope you want to set freeMine is the Commonwealth of the world to be”Before she walked away, she flipped a toonie into my direction and said, “Not much, but remember to give back.”Those who know her are smitten by her graceThose who don’t know her seek her embraceIt is said that she watches over the northern abode of the gods, the gates of which, when she blushes, are marked by northern lightsA rising majestic colourful totem of peace signals her tempered western profileIt is her birthday tomorrow and I ask, “What do you give a beautiful lady who has everything?”Lady Canada says, “just a genuine smile. ― Lamine Pearlheart, The Sunrise Scrolls

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At first, as I met her, l thought she was lost until she said,
At first, as I met her, l thought she was lost until she said, "Of the rest of world, I am not afraid,Some of those who inspired me where not from herePeople come to me not to become, but to beI like them the way they are, they add colour to my blue seaI am the friend of the restless, see them as brighter as they can beSee them as they see meRestful in my arms, yet invisible is my nurturing lightThey smile now, nothing more precious to a mother than a happy child who is politeI am the star you want to see, the hope you want to set freeMine is the Commonwealth of the world to be"Before she walked away, she flipped a toonie into my direction and said, "Not much, but remember to give back."Those who know her are smitten by her graceThose who don't know her seek her embraceIt is said that she watches over the northern abode of the gods, the gates of which, when she blushes, are marked by northern lightsA rising majestic colourful totem of peace signals her tempered western profileIt is her birthday tomorrow and I ask, "What do you give a beautiful lady who has everything?"Lady Canada says, "just a genuine smile. ― Lamine Pearlheart, The Sunrise Scrolls

At first, as I met her, l thought she was lost until she said, “Of the rest of world, I am not afraid,Some of those who inspired me where not from herePeople come to me not to become, but to beI like them the way they are, they add colour to my blue seaI am the friend of the restless, see them as brighter as they can beSee them as they see meRestful in my arms, yet invisible is my nurturing lightThey smile now, nothing more precious to a mother than a happy child who is politeI am the star you want to see, the hope you want to set freeMine is the Commonwealth of the world to be”Before she walked away, she flipped a toonie into my direction and said, “Not much, but remember to give back.”Those who know her are smitten by her graceThose who don’t know her seek her embraceIt is said that she watches over the northern abode of the gods, the gates of which, when she blushes, are marked by northern lightsA rising majestic colourful totem of peace signals her tempered western profileIt is her birthday tomorrow and I ask, “What do you give a beautiful lady who has everything?”Lady Canada says, “just a genuine smile.
― Lamine Pearlheart,

The Sunrise Scrolls

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Ahora que lo pienso, se dijo, Castillo tenía razón: uno no puede pasarse la vida imitando la mala literatura. La mala literatura, explicaba Castillo, es un pantano del que no se puede salir si se ha caído en él a profundidad. Pero de golpe se le acrecentó el afecto hacia Turi Giuliano: nadie le ha devuelto una imagen de sí mismo tan humana como ese personaje ― José Libardo Porras, Happy Birthday, Capo

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Ahora que lo pienso, se dijo, Castillo tenía razón: uno no puede pasarse la vida imitando la mala literatura. La mala literatura, explicaba Castillo, es un pantano del que no se puede salir si se ha caído en él a profundidad. Pero de golpe se le acrecentó el afecto hacia Turi Giuliano: nadie le ha devuelto una imagen de sí mismo tan humana como ese personaje
     ― José Libardo Porras,
  
    
      Happy Birthday, Capo
Ahora que lo pienso, se dijo, Castillo tenía razón: uno no puede pasarse la vida imitando la mala literatura. La mala literatura, explicaba Castillo, es un pantano del que no se puede salir si se ha caído en él a profundidad. Pero de golpe se le acrecentó el afecto hacia Turi Giuliano: nadie le ha devuelto una imagen de sí mismo tan humana como ese personaje ― José Libardo Porras, Happy Birthday, Capo

Ahora que lo pienso, se dijo, Castillo tenía razón: uno no puede pasarse la vida imitando la mala literatura. La mala literatura, explicaba Castillo, es un pantano del que no se puede salir si se ha caído en él a profundidad. Pero de golpe se le acrecentó el afecto hacia Turi Giuliano: nadie le ha devuelto una imagen de sí mismo tan humana como ese personaje
― José Libardo Porras,

Happy Birthday, Capo

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The birds had multiplied. She’d installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she’d had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I’d left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She’d adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I’d fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I’d given her one every year until I’d left: eight birds in total.As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.I couldn’t deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I’d sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn’t want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.Suddenly, however, Ma-ma’s collection stirred.It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn’t sung seconds before.I thanked them for the happiness they’d bestowed on Ma-ma. ― Roselle Lim, Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck and Fortune

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The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total.As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred.It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before.I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.
     ― Roselle Lim,
  
    
      Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune
The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total.As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred.It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before.I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma. ― Roselle Lim, Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune

The birds had multiplied. She’d installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she’d had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I’d left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She’d adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I’d fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I’d given her one every year until I’d left: eight birds in total.As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.I couldn’t deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I’d sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn’t want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.Suddenly, however, Ma-ma’s collection stirred.It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn’t sung seconds before.I thanked them for the happiness they’d bestowed on Ma-ma.
― Roselle Lim,

Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck and Fortune

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De un ejército de cientos de sicarios con armas de todos los calibres adquiridas a cambio de cocaína por intermedio de las mafias rusa e italiana, había pasado a tener por emisaria a una anciana tan grávida de años y de bondad que no asustaría ni a un niño. ― José Libardo Porras, Happy Birthday, Capo

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De un ejército de cientos de sicarios con armas de todos los calibres adquiridas a cambio de cocaína por intermedio de las mafias rusa e italiana, había pasado a tener por emisaria a una anciana tan grávida de años y de bondad que no asustaría ni a un niño.
     ― José Libardo Porras,
  
    
      Happy Birthday, Capo
De un ejército de cientos de sicarios con armas de todos los calibres adquiridas a cambio de cocaína por intermedio de las mafias rusa e italiana, había pasado a tener por emisaria a una anciana tan grávida de años y de bondad que no asustaría ni a un niño. ― José Libardo Porras, Happy Birthday, Capo

De un ejército de cientos de sicarios con armas de todos los calibres adquiridas a cambio de cocaína por intermedio de las mafias rusa e italiana, había pasado a tener por emisaria a una anciana tan grávida de años y de bondad que no asustaría ni a un niño.
― José Libardo Porras,

Happy Birthday, Capo

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Happy Birthday Brigid, I’m so proud of you! The wonderful, thoughtful woman you have become and the family peacemaker that brings joy in my heart. I’m grateful to be blessed with such a great gift and you will always be my little girl forever and ever. I love you so much. Mom!! ― Euginia Herlihy

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Happy Birthday Brigid, I’m so proud of you! The wonderful, thoughtful woman you have become and the family peacemaker that brings joy in my heart. I’m grateful to be blessed with such a great gift and you will always be my little girl forever and ever. I love you so much. Mom!!
     ― Euginia Herlihy
Happy Birthday Brigid, I’m so proud of you! The wonderful, thoughtful woman you have become and the family peacemaker that brings joy in my heart. I’m grateful to be blessed with such a great gift and you will always be my little girl forever and ever. I love you so much. Mom!! ― Euginia Herlihy

Happy Birthday Brigid, I’m so proud of you! The wonderful, thoughtful woman you have become and the family peacemaker that brings joy in my heart. I’m grateful to be blessed with such a great gift and you will always be my little girl forever and ever. I love you so much. Mom!!
― Euginia Herlihy

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Birthdays are happy as a child, defeatist with age and joyful again at surviving another year. ― Stewart Stafford

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Birthdays are happy as a child, defeatist with age and joyful again at surviving another year.
     ― Stewart Stafford
Birthdays are happy as a child, defeatist with age and joyful again at surviving another year. ― Stewart Stafford

Birthdays are happy as a child, defeatist with age and joyful again at surviving another year.
― Stewart Stafford

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The Lost Cause’s Confederacy of gallant leaders and storied victories in defense of home ground retains enormous vitality in recent artworks. “Happy Birthday General Lee” proclaims an advertisement for three prints tied to the 200th anniversary of the general’s birth. Grant receives fewer such gestures, and his cause, which confirmed American nationalism and forced a redefinition of United States citizenship, has been reduced to little more than prints of a battle in Pennsylvania, a college professor who did well as a soldier, and a few thousand men who fought under green flags. ― Gary W. Gallagher, Causes Won, Lost, and Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know about the Civil War

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The Lost Cause's Confederacy of gallant leaders and storied victories in defense of home ground retains enormous vitality in recent artworks.
The Lost Cause's Confederacy of gallant leaders and storied victories in defense of home ground retains enormous vitality in recent artworks. "Happy Birthday General Lee" proclaims an advertisement for three prints tied to the 200th anniversary of the general's birth. Grant receives fewer such gestures, and his cause, which confirmed American nationalism and forced a redefinition of United States citizenship, has been reduced to little more than prints of a battle in Pennsylvania, a college professor who did well as a soldier, and a few thousand men who fought under green flags. ― Gary W. Gallagher, Causes Won, Lost, and Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know about the Civil War

The Lost Cause’s Confederacy of gallant leaders and storied victories in defense of home ground retains enormous vitality in recent artworks. “Happy Birthday General Lee” proclaims an advertisement for three prints tied to the 200th anniversary of the general’s birth. Grant receives fewer such gestures, and his cause, which confirmed American nationalism and forced a redefinition of United States citizenship, has been reduced to little more than prints of a battle in Pennsylvania, a college professor who did well as a soldier, and a few thousand men who fought under green flags.
― Gary W. Gallagher,

Causes Won, Lost, and Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know about the Civil War

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Why?Why what? Søren asked.Why was she happy to help you spend your birthday alone with me?I told her how much I needed some time alone with you. She understands this.Why me and not her?Because when I want you, only you will do. ― Tiffany Reisz, Winter Tales

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Why?Why what? Søren asked.Why was she happy to help you spend your birthday alone with me?I told her how much I needed some time alone with you. She understands this.Why me and not her?Because when I want you, only you will do.
     ― Tiffany Reisz,
  
    
      Winter Tales
Why?Why what? Søren asked.Why was she happy to help you spend your birthday alone with me?I told her how much I needed some time alone with you. She understands this.Why me and not her?Because when I want you, only you will do. ― Tiffany Reisz, Winter Tales

Why?Why what? Søren asked.Why was she happy to help you spend your birthday alone with me?I told her how much I needed some time alone with you. She understands this.Why me and not her?Because when I want you, only you will do.
― Tiffany Reisz,

Winter Tales

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I’m just going to warn you that we’ve been looking for Abyssinia for almost seven months. Do you hear me? Seven months. And we haven’t found her, or the flying prison she’s commandeered, or any of her little anti-Sanctuary friends. We’re both extremely annoyed about this. Our patience has worn thin, Doctor. When we found out that she paid a visit to this charming castle no less than two days ago … Well, I’m not going to lie: I cried a little. Tears of happiness. And when we learned that you were working here? It was like all my birthdays had come at once. Not only do I get to see my old friend Doctor Nye, but Doctor Nye gets to help us in our search, and tell us where Abyssinia has gone. ― Derek Landy, Midnight

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I’m just going to warn you that we’ve been looking for Abyssinia for almost seven months. Do you hear me? Seven months. And we haven’t found her, or the flying prison she’s commandeered, or any of her little anti-Sanctuary friends. We’re both extremely annoyed about this. Our patience has worn thin, Doctor. When we found out that she paid a visit to this charming castle no less than two days ago … Well, I’m not going to lie: I cried a little. Tears of happiness. And when we learned that you were working here? It was like all my birthdays had come at once. Not only do I get to see my old friend Doctor Nye, but Doctor Nye gets to help us in our search, and tell us where Abyssinia has gone.
     ― Derek Landy,
  
    
      Midnight
I’m just going to warn you that we’ve been looking for Abyssinia for almost seven months. Do you hear me? Seven months. And we haven’t found her, or the flying prison she’s commandeered, or any of her little anti-Sanctuary friends. We’re both extremely annoyed about this. Our patience has worn thin, Doctor. When we found out that she paid a visit to this charming castle no less than two days ago … Well, I’m not going to lie: I cried a little. Tears of happiness. And when we learned that you were working here? It was like all my birthdays had come at once. Not only do I get to see my old friend Doctor Nye, but Doctor Nye gets to help us in our search, and tell us where Abyssinia has gone. ― Derek Landy, Midnight

I’m just going to warn you that we’ve been looking for Abyssinia for almost seven months. Do you hear me? Seven months. And we haven’t found her, or the flying prison she’s commandeered, or any of her little anti-Sanctuary friends. We’re both extremely annoyed about this. Our patience has worn thin, Doctor. When we found out that she paid a visit to this charming castle no less than two days ago … Well, I’m not going to lie: I cried a little. Tears of happiness. And when we learned that you were working here? It was like all my birthdays had come at once. Not only do I get to see my old friend Doctor Nye, but Doctor Nye gets to help us in our search, and tell us where Abyssinia has gone.
― Derek Landy,

Midnight

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The Birthday travels patiently and silently to inspire and aspire happiness, with the gifts of surprise and love of family and friends. ― Ehsan Sehgal

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The Birthday travels patiently and silently to inspire and aspire happiness, with the gifts of surprise and love of family and friends.
     ― Ehsan Sehgal
The Birthday travels patiently and silently to inspire and aspire happiness, with the gifts of surprise and love of family and friends. ― Ehsan Sehgal

The Birthday travels patiently and silently to inspire and aspire happiness, with the gifts of surprise and love of family and friends.
― Ehsan Sehgal

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