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Every poet, be his outward lot what it may, finds himself born in the midst of prose; h e has to struggle from the littleness and obstruction of an actual world into the freedom and infinitude of an ideal.
— Thomas Carlyle
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Horror itself in that fair scene looks gay, And joy springs up e'en in the midst of fear. [It., Bello in si bella vista anco e l'orrore, E di mezzo la tema esce il diletto.]
— Torquato Tasso
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