At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
You call it hope _ that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire.
Edgar Allan Poe: Selected Poems
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You call it hope _ that fire of fire!It is but agony of desire.
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