Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

“I call a lie: wanting not to see something one does see, wanting not to see something as one sees it … the most common lie is the lie one tells to oneself; lying to other is relatively the exception.” “A casual stroll through
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“The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace” “But at my back I always hear Time’s winged chariot hurrying near.” “Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.”