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Carl Sandburg

What is there for you in the birds, the birds, the birds, crying down in the north wind in September—acres of birds spotting the air going south? Is there something finished? And some new beginning on the way? — Carl Sandburg, from section “Falltime” in “Redhaw Winds,” Poetry (October 1918)

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Joseph Campbell

Love is the burning point of life, and since all life is sorrowful, so is love. The stronger the love, the more the pain. Love itself is pain, you might say -the pain of being truly alive. ― Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth. Published by Anchor (June 1, 1991)

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Jack Kerouac

Thinking of the stars night after night I begin to realize “The stars are words” and all the innumerable worlds in the Milky Way are words, and so is this world too. And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of… Continue reading Jack Kerouac

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Jorge Luis Borges

One day or one night—between my days and nights, what difference can there be?—I dreamed that there was a grain of sand on the floor of my cell. Unconcerned, I went back to sleep; I dreamed that I woke up and there were two grains of sand. Again I slept; I dreamed that now there… Continue reading Jorge Luis Borges

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Pablo Neruda

Leaning into the afternoons, I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames; Its arms turning like a drowning man’s. I send out red signals across your absent eyes That wave like the sea, or the beach by a lighthouse. You keep only darkness my… Continue reading Pablo Neruda

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