Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
The dew of compassion is a tear.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.
Happiness was born a twin.
Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
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