A woman would rather visit her own grave than the place where she has been young and beautiful after she is aged and ugly.
Remember that time I punched you in front of my father’s grave?” I ask in a sentimental voice.
It is up to my spirit to find the truth. But how? Grave uncertainty, each time the spirit feels beyond its own comprehension; whenit, the explorer, is altogether to obscure land that it must search and where all its baggage is of no use. To search? That is not all: to create.
Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.
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