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— Saul Bellow"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about the journalists; we can only hope that they will die off as the deerflies do towards the end of August."
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The cold stars spun to the ancient rhythm, the august march of an everlasting symphony. They are old, the stars, and their memory is long.
— Rick Yancey
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Then suddenly the Mole felt a great Awe fall upon him, an awe that turned his muscles to water, bowed his head, and rooted his feet to the ground. It was no panic terror - indeed he felt wonderfully at peace and happy - but it was an awe that smote and held him and, without seeing, he knew it could only mean that some august presence was very, very near.
— Kenneth Grahame
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