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— Emile M. Cioran"Who Rebels? Who rises in arms? Rarely the slave, but almost always the oppressor turned slave."
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These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.
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For years I have been mourning and not for my dead, it is for this boy for whatever corner in my heart died when his childhood slid out of my arms.
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