The man was on his knees, trying to retrieve each of his ugly words that were now scattered on the floor. But, of course, it was too late. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
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To whoever invented fantasy, redwood trees, and apple pie for breakfast: well done. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
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During the darkest indigo midnight, yet will countless stars blossom. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
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And there is monologue disguised as dialogue, in which two or more men, meeting in space, speak each with himself in strangely tortuous and circuitous ways and yet imagine they have escaped the torment of being thrown back on their own resources. – Martin Buber (1878—1965), translated from German
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