Words, words, words...once, I had the gift...I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups out of clay love that overthrows empires, love that binds two hearts together come hellfire and brimstone...I could cause a riot in a nunnery...but now...I have lost my gift. It's as if my quill is broken. As if the organ of the imagination has dried up. As if the proud tower of my genius has collapsed. Nothing comes.

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