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"Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heart-ache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he...
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Your skull is a pit of blood round which the shades of the dead gather in myriad flocks to drink of you and be revived. -Kazantzakis
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Lined up two tarot readings and brewed up some Lodestone and Crown of Success Oil. Nothing like unemployment to bring out the sorcerer in me.