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Given belief in God, a good digestion and a mind in working order life's still a thing to be grateful for.
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So this blessing of loneliness was not really loneliness. Real loneliness was something unendurable. What one wanted when exhausted by the noise and impact of physical bodies was not no people but disembodied people; all those denizens of beloved books who could be taken to one's heart and put away again, in silence, and with no hurt feelings.
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Happy the man who lives long enough to acknowledge his ignorance.
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Without faith your mind gets fouled. Look at Cervantes. He was a man of faith and nothing fouled Cervantes, not even war and slavery. He wrote the first part of Don Quixote in prison.
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I don't think there's anything more tiring ... than expecting people who don't turn up.
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I mean, you may cause others a spot of bother by your weaknesses, perhaps, but coping with you may possibly increase their strength and sympathy. But if you sin deliberately, even if it seems only against yourself--well--you won't be the only one to suffer. You may even be the one who suffers least.
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Just as it takes death to awaken us to the full stature of someone loved.
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What we are made to do we seldom do well, what we do of our own choice we make a success of for very pride.