I ran up the door and opened the stairs, I said my pajamas & put on my prayers, I turned off the bed & tumbled into the light, All because you kissed me good night!
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To endow the writer publicly with a good fleshly body, to reveal that he likes dry white wine and underdone steak, is to make even more miraculous for me, and of a more divine essence, the products of his art. Far from the details of his daily life bringing nearer to me the nature of his inspiration and making it clearer, it is the whole mystical singularity of his condition which the writer emphasizes by such confidences. For I cannot but ascribe to some superhumanly the existence of beings vast enough to wear blue pajamas at the very moment when they manifest themselves as universal conscience.
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I ran up the door and closed the stairs, I said my pajamas and hopped into my prayers, I turned off my bed and got in my light, all because you kissed me that night.
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