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Youth!! Ah, what a word!! And how transitory! But, how grand! as long as it lasts. How many millions in gold would pour out for an ability to call it all back, as with our musical myth, Faust. During that magic part of a child__ growth this world is just a gigantic inquiry box, containing many a topic for which a solution is paramount to a growing mind. And to whom can a child look, but us adults? Any man who __an__ stop now_ to talk with a child upon a topic which, to him is__oo silly for anything,_ should look back to that day upon which that topic was dark and dubious in his own brain. A child who asks nothing will know nothing. That is why that __ump of inquiry_ was put on top of our skulls.
Ernest Vincent Wright Gadsby
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Youth!! Ah, what a word!! And how transitory! But, how grand! as long as it lasts. How many millions in gold would pour out for an ability to call it all back, as with our musical myth, Faust. During that magic part of a child__ growth this world is just a gigantic inquiry box, containing many a topic for which a solution is paramount to a growing mind. And to whom can a child look, but us adults? Any man who __an__ stop now_ to talk with a child upon a topic which, to him is__oo silly for anything,_ should look back to that day upon which that topic was dark and dubious in his own brain. A child who asks nothing will know nothing. That is why that __ump of inquiry_ was put on top of our skulls.

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As survivors and procreators, we unravel stories that at their root are not dissimilar from the habitual behaviors seen in nature. But as beings who know they will die we digress into episodes and epics that are altogether dissociated from the natural world. We may isolate this awareness, distract ourselves from it, anchor our minds far from its shores, and sublimate it as a motif in our sagas. Yet at no time and in no place are we protected from being tapped on the shoulder and reminded, __ou__e going to die, you know._ However much we try to ignore it, our consciousness haunts us with this knowledge. Our heads were baptized in the font of death; they are doused with the horror of moribundity.

TL
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