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— Federico Garcia Lorca"Relish the fresh landscape of my wound, break rushes and delicate rivulets, drink blood poured on honeyed thigh."
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In thought I am living wholly with Theo and Vincent, oh, the infinitely delicate, tender and lovely [quality] of that relation[ship].
— Johanna van Gogh-Bonger
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Virtue is not a mushroom, that springeth up of itself in one night when we are asleep, or regard it not; but a delicate plant, that groweth slowly and tenderly, needing much pains to cultivate it, much care to guard it, much time to mature it, in our untoward soil, in this world's unkindly weather.
— Isaac Barrow
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