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Nothing that is really good and God-like dies.
— Ernst Moritz Arndt
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Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I lay me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be: Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
— Robert Louis Stevenson
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