"How many times has He delivered me! Yet, alas! How distrustful and ungrateful is my heart even until the present!"

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Alas! In vain historians pry and probe: The same wind blows, and in the same live robe Truth bends her head to fingers curved cupwise; And with a woman's smile and a child's care Examines something she is holding there Concealed by her own shoulder from our eyes.

— Vladimir Nabokov