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— Countee Cullen"The night whose sable breast relieves the stark, White stars, is no less lovely being dark"
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Song, like a wing, tears through my breast, my side, And madness chooses out my voice again, Again.
— Louise Bogan
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It is what we imagine knowledge to be: dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free, drawn from the cold hard mouth of the world, derived from the rocky breasts forever, flowing and drawn, and since our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.
— Elizabeth Bishop
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