Is that the wind dying? O no; It's only two devils, that blow Through a murderer's bones, to and fro, In the ghosts' moonshine.
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The swallow leaves her nest, The soul my weary breast;
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Old Adam, the carrion crow,
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Young soul put off your flesh, and come With me into the quiet tomb,...
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We are afraid They would envy our delight, In our graves by glow-worm night.
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There are people who make things happen, there are people who watch things happen, and there are people who wonder what happened. To be successful, you need to be a person who makes things happen.
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I never thought I didn't have a card to play.
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Freedom is hunting, feeding, danger; that, that is freedom—that it is which makes...
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