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O'er folded blooms On swirls of musk, The beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk.
— James Whitcomb Riley
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Solitude is a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end. Every choice is a world made new for the chosen.
— Barbara Kingsolver
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