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Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.
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The difference between a man and his valet: they both smoke the same cigars, but only one pays for them.
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Style is that which indicates how the writer takes himself and what he is saying. It is the mind skating circles around itself as it moves forward.
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Summoning artists to participate In the august occasions of the state Seems something artists ought to celebrate. Today is for my cause a day of days.
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It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage...
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Freud was way off base in considering sex the fundamental motivation. The ruling passion in men is minding each other's business.
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We're either nothing or a God's regret.
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I heard someone say he [Carl Sandburg] was the kind of writer who had everything to gain and nothing to lose by being translated into another language.
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I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.
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The reason artists show so little interest In public freedom is because the freedom They've come to feel the need of is a kind No one can give them they can scarce attain The freedom of their own material....
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The truth is the river flows into the canyon Of Ceasing-to-Question-What-Doesn't-Concern-Us, As sooner or later we have to cease somewhere.
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I am not a teacher, but an awakener.
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I see for Nature no defeat In one tree's overthrow Or for myself in my retreat For yet another blow.
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Everyone asks for freedom for himself, The man free love, the businessman free trade, The writer and talker free speech and free press.
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I only hope that when I am free, as they are free to go in quest, of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life, it may not seem better to me to rest.
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Far more violence has been done in obeying the law than in breaking the law.
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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.
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It looked as if a night of dark intent. Was coming, and not only a night, an age.Someone had better be prepared for rage.There would be more than ocean-water broken. Before God's last 'Put out the Light' was spoken
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The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.
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Leaves and bark, leaves and bark, To lean against and hear in the dark. Petals I may have once pursued. Leaves are all my darker mood.
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Nothing not built with hands of course is sacred. But here is not a question of what's sacred; Rather of what to face or run away from. I'd hate to be a runaway from nature.
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Earth's the right place for love. I don't know where it's likely to go better.
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Live life like its the last breath you take for that breath is the whole essence of living, the little things in life are what connects us to all the big things we live for.
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They would not find me changed from him they knew - only more sure of all I thought was true.