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— Oliver Goldsmith"Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair."
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Our abode in this world is transitory, our life therein is but a loan, our breaths are numbered and our indolence is manifest.
— Abu Bakr
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Eternity' is there, We say, as of a station. Meanwhile, he is so near, He joins me in my Ramble? Divides abode with me? No Friend have I that so persists As this Eternity.
— Emily Dickinson
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