Isn't it strange that the journeys of expectation end with death or the promise of death?

 

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Is it true then, the rumour about the insulted and humiliated; that they are quietly plotting to drown arrogance with compassion?

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Who laments the death of a cigarette,

and

who weeps for the still-born pencil?

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If there were doormats where one could brush away ill-will and arrogance, would only purity and benevolence remain or a funereal nonchalance?

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