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It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.
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Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.
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It’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at.
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How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad. How sweet is yesterday's noise
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The music of memory has its own pitch,which not everyone hears.
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If you want great tranquility. It's hard work and a long walk
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It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.
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Poetry is the dark side of the moon.