Cornucopians dream perpetual abundance; deep ecologists predict apocalypse. Both are mistaken. There will be no end, only painful presents.
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It is easy to be cocksure in expecting the worst. Nobody defines themselves as cautiously pessimistic.
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In private, the prude longs to shed a letter.
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No wonder so many writers drink: day after day at the page, decanting one book into another...
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Many that boast about their love of liberty overstate their commitment. I'm all for free speech but I suspect the only thing that I would defend to the death is my life.
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Where we cannot bring change, let us at least irk.
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Perhaps we weep because our weeping alters nothing.
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