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— Frances Sargent Osgood"He whom nature thus bereaves, Is ever fancy's favourite child; For thee enchanted dreams she weaves Of changeful beauty, bright and wild."
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
— William Shakespeare
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O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!
— John Milton
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