Quote 168

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Sleep is not, death is not;
Who seem to die live.
House you were born in,
Friends of your spring-time,
Old man and young maid,
Days toil and its guerdon,
They're all vanishing,
Fleeing to fables,
Cannot be moored.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson-

Found this in the front of my 'Peculiar children' book thought it fitted.

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