Oh, this terrible second me, always seated whilst the other is on foot, acting, living, suffering, bestirring itself. This second me that I have never been able to intoxicate, to make shed tears, or put to sleep. And how it sees into things, and how it mocks!
Alphonse Daudet
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Poets are people who can still see the world through the eyes of children. Distrust the man who smiles before he speaks. Hatred is the anger of the weak.
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