D'you know what that's like? That's like saying you prefer snow when it's not cold and wet, or fire if it's not burny, or puddings if they're not sweet, or your brother if only he wasn't always just such a raving blood traitor.
That's just liking the world for something other than it is.
You can't like something only sometimes. It doesn't work that way. That would be like forgetting how to ride a broom, because you've suddenly woken up one morning and forgotten all the things about yourself, and about other people, and other things in the world. You can't forget what you didn't like about something, that stays with you, all right, and it's a cowardly thing to back down on it and say that you were wrong, that maybe you do like it a little bit after all. You can't.
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Next!
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What about when you five, and we were at the summer house in Lyon, and we went to go see them on Bastille Day, you cried for three hours.
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That's just liking the world for something other than it is.
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I like some things all the time. And I like other things only sometimes.
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