It is not by writing the word 'table' that one talks about a table. It is not by writing the word 'tree' that one talks about a tree; it is not by writing the word 'love' that one talks about love.
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She said exactly what she wanted to say. Poetry was within her, and it expressed itself'
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Journey's end.
This is the crisp early morning, with its bells, its roosters, its coughs, its growing beard. Now is the time to cling to life and to believe in it. There's so much to laugh about! The time has come to live -- a little.
Too beautiful, too honest, too real, too necessary; this was everything I was hoping it would be, and a little bit more. Just like a dream.