I ended it, and felt the unassuageable contrition of the gardener who finds two writhing halves of the one worm.
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Oh the irony! We achieve mass literacy and Rupert Murdoch buys all the newspapers.
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If we could reconcile ourselves, truly, to the fact that no one’s watching, what fun we might get up to.
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Even as we read we forget, and what remains to us is not essence but residuum.
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The randomness of suffering being intolerable, humanity invented malediction.
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As we grow older we slow down because we can glimpse our destination.
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