"For me, it is OK as long as I can breathe, as long as my heart is pumping, as long as I can express myself."

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Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul: There, 'mid the throng of hurrying desires That trample o'er the dead to seize their spoil, Lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible As exhaltations laden with slow death, And o'er the fairest troop of captured joys Breathes pallid pestilence.

— George Eliot