I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself
Tragedy looks to me like man in love with his own defeat. Which is only a sloppy way of being in love with yourself.
Let there be an end ... of all this welter of pity, which is only self-pity reflected onto some obvious surface.
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