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The plough of Time breaks up our Eden-land, And tramples down its fruitful flowery prime. Yet thro' the dust of ages living shoots O' the old immortal seed start in the furrows; And, where Love looked on with glorious eye, These quicken'd germs of everlastingness Flower lusty, as of old in Paradise!
— Gerald Massey
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We are still in Eden; the wall that shuts us out is our own ignorance and folly.
— Thomas Cole
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