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— Alfred Lord Tennyson"And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan."
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I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving.
— John Keats
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People want you to be happy. Don't keep serving them your pain! If you could untie your wings and free your soul of jealousy, you and everyone around you would fly up like doves.
— Rumi
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