If the house would only burn down, we would pack up the cubs and fly to the isles of the blest, and shut ourselves up in the healing solitudes of the crater of Haleakala and get a good rest; for the mails do not intrude there, nor yet the telephone and the telegraph… What I have always longed for was the privilege of living forever away up on one of those mountains in the Sandwich Islands overlooking the sea.
— Mark Twain, longing to return to Hawaii (via austinkleon)
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I need to read that book.
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