Unless, governor, teacher inspector, visitor, This map becomes their window and these windows...
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Womens humor is part of the revolution.
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I think of those who were truly great. The names of those who in their lives fought for life, Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
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Surely Shakespeare is wicked, the map a bad example With ships and sun and love tempting them to steal—
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History is the ship carrying living memories to the future.
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After the first powerful plain manifesto The black statement of pistons, without more fuss...
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Critics of visual arts and of music describe in words—that is to say, a system of signs other than those made by brushes on canvas or chisel...
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She passes the houses which humbly crowd outside, The gasworks and at last the heavy page...
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They think how one life hums, revolves and toils, One cog in a golden singing hive:
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Death is another milestone on their way. With laughter on their lips and with winds blowing round them...
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Consider his life which was valueless In terms of employment, hotel ledgers, news files....
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Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
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'Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.' Under the influence of this pestilent morality, I am forever letting tomorrow's work slop backwards into today's, and doing painfully and nervously today what I could do quickly and easily tomorrow.
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Paradoxically, the most constructive thing women can do ... is to write, for in the act of writing we deny our mutedness and begin to eliminat...
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Money is of no value; it cannot spend itself. All depends on the skill of the spender.
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