All things on earth point home in old October sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken. – Thomas Wolfe
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In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep for we are dying the darkness and we know no death. – Thomas Wolfe
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