"The praise of a fool is incense to the wisest of us . . ."
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Nothing is true but Love, nor aught of worth; Love is the incense which doth sweeten earth.
— Richard Chenevix Trench
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I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet.
— John Keats
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