The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. – Rabindranath Tagore
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I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore. – Rabindranath Tagore
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