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— J. D. Salinger"I privately say to you, old friend... please accept from me this unpretentious bouquet of early-blooming parentheses: (((())))."
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Sprigs of plum by the corner of the wall Are blooming alone in the cold; If not for the subtle fragrance drifting over Who could tell this from snow on the boughs.
— Wang Anshi
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Once a blooming red rose, full of streaming life in its veins. Now a wilting black petal rupturing with death and pain.
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