A horse which stops dead just before a jump and thus propels its rider into a graceful arc provides a splendid excuse for general merriment. – Duke of Endinburgh
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Our destiny often looks like a fruit-tree in winter. Who would think from its pitiable aspect that those rigid boughs, those rough twigs could next spring again be green, bloom, and even bear fruit? Yet we hope it, we know it. – Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Wilhelm Meister’s Travels, translated from German
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