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It was a creature worth studying/  I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels./ They could never understand, What u set out 2 do, Instead they chose 2 Ridicule u/Poetry is the art of surprising yourself with your own words/ / I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. / The truth is rarely pure and never simple. /Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance. / Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Shakespeare and Milton and The Bible; and don’t sit there crooning like a bilious pigeon. / There is no royal road to learning; no short cut to the acquirement of any art. / Every man’s work, whether it be literature or music or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a portrait of himself / If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence./ Unless one is a genius, it is best to aim at being intelligible. / . . . these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean’s skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang. ./ She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion–there warn’t no back-down to her… 

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