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I can't think of any poet-recluses outside of one dead Jeffers. [Robinson Jeffers] The rest of them want to slobber over each other and hug each other. It appears to me that I am the last of the poet-recluses.
— Charles Bukowski
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I cannot contain this. Please, can we all have something sexual together? You're both beautiful, even just a hug.'
— Emilia Clarke
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