Of the gladdest moments in human life, methinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of Habit, the leaden weight of Routine, the cloak of many Cares and the slavery of Civilization, man feels once more happy.
I cannot write about Venice; I can only write about me, and the sleeping parts of myself that Venice has shocked into wakefulness.
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I cannot write about Venice; I can only write about me, and the sleeping parts of myself that Venice has shocked into wakefulness.
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