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The world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.
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I ofen looked up at the sky an' assed meself the question - what is the stars, what is the stars?
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What time has been wasted during man's destiny in the struggle to decide what man's next world will be like! The keener the effort to find out, the less he knew about the present one he lived in.
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Work! Labour the aspergas me of life; the one great sacrament of humanity from which all other things flow --security, leisure, joy, art, literature, even divinity itself.
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It's only a little cold I have; there's nothing derogatory wrong with me.
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