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“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”
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“O fleeting stars, that softly mark my way,
Through distant lands and years that gently fade,
My heart, unyielding, holds thy name alone.
Each quiet hour, in shadows of my soul,
I muse on days when we might meet once more.
In crowded halls, where laughter veils the truth,
I wore a smile, yet thou wert ever near—
A thought unspoken, woven in my mind,
That stirred amidst the mirth I scarce believed.
No word confessed it, yet my spirit knew.
But soft, what fault have I, in blindness, sown?
With her, my gentle love, I strayed amiss—
A careless step, a moment’s frail misdeed.
Now, in this stillness, sorrow clouds my breast,
And whispers low: what grace have I undone?”
― The merchant of Venice
Through distant lands and years that gently fade,
My heart, unyielding, holds thy name alone.
Each quiet hour, in shadows of my soul,
I muse on days when we might meet once more.
In crowded halls, where laughter veils the truth,
I wore a smile, yet thou wert ever near—
A thought unspoken, woven in my mind,
That stirred amidst the mirth I scarce believed.
No word confessed it, yet my spirit knew.
But soft, what fault have I, in blindness, sown?
With her, my gentle love, I strayed amiss—
A careless step, a moment’s frail misdeed.
Now, in this stillness, sorrow clouds my breast,
And whispers low: what grace have I undone?”
― The merchant of Venice
“to be or not to be”
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