"He tried to name which of the deadly seven might apply, and when he failed he decided to append an eighth, regret."

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There is a solitude, which each and every one of us has always carried with him, more inaccessible than the ice-cold mountains, more profound than the midnight sea; the solitude of self. Our inner being, which we call ourself, no eye nor touch of man or angel has ever pierced.

— Elizabeth Cady Stanton