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— Stephane Mallarme"O naked flower of my lips, you lie! I await a thing unknown or perhaps, unaware of the mystery and your cries you give, O lips, the supreme tortured moans of a childhood groping among its reveries to sort out finally its cold precious stones."
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Love childhood, indulge its sports, its pleasures, its delightful instincts. Who has not sometimes regretted that age when laughter was ever on the lips, and when the heart was ever at peace?
— Jean-Jacques Rousseau
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When we talk of leaving our childhood behind us, we might as well say that the river flowing onward to the sea had left the fountain behind.
— Anna Brownell Jameson
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