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I call you children because that is what you are. You have not fended for yourselves, you have not felt the terrible blows that life gives you. As we speak, there is hatred and prejudice residing in our world's heart. Now a man can make a difference in the world, even if it is a small one. We all have fates, including me. We can choose to make that fate one that will bring hope, or one that will bring destruction. Times are changing, and we must grow wiser for it. So now I must encourage you- I must beg you-when you leave these school walls and enter this world, to not be as idiotic and imbecilic as the generation before you.
Mordred
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I call you children because that is what you are. You have not fended for yourselves, you have not felt the terrible blows that life gives you. As we speak, there is hatred and prejudice residing in our world's heart. Now a man can make a difference in the world, even if it is a small one. We all have fates, including me. We can choose to make that fate one that will bring hope, or one that will bring destruction. Times are changing, and we must grow wiser for it. So now I must encourage you- I must beg you-when you leave these school walls and enter this world, to not be as idiotic and imbecilic as the generation before you.

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Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.Even now I curse the day__nd yet, I think,Few come within the compass of my curse,__herein I did not some notorious ill,As kill a man, or else devise his death,Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,Set deadly enmity between two friends,Make poor men's cattle break their necks;Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,And bid the owners quench them with their tears.Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful thingsAs willingly as one would kill a fly,And nothing grieves me heartily indeedBut that I cannot do ten thousand more.