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Writing poetry is the hard manual labor of the imagination.
— Ishmael Reed
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I don't suppose you offered to help?" "Sage," Adrian declared. "These hands don't do manual labor." He knocked another ball into a hole. "You want to play?" "What? With you?" "No, with Clarence." He sighed at my dumbfounded look. "Yes, of course with me.
— Richelle Mead
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