Keep not your roses for my dead, cold brow the way is lonely, let me feel them now. – Arabella Smith
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[M]an is a machine made expressly for sorrow; he has only five senses with which to receive pleasure, and suffering comes to him through the whole surface of his body…. The man who does not suffer is an ill-made machine, an imperfect creature… – Claude Tillier (1801–1844), My Uncle Benjamin: A Humorous, Satirical, and
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