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Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.
— William Wordsworth
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There is a slovenly disrespect for truth and reality that has infected and cross-infected the arts; the values of entertainment are relentlessly in the ascendant, to the extent that it becomes virtually impossible to write a naturalistic fictional sentence without feeling that the fabric of that sentence is already compromised.
— Rachel Cusk
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