And now we have the formalities over, we'll have the National Anthems.
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As always on this boulevard, the faces were young, coming annually in an endless migration from every country, every continent, to alight here once in the long journey of their lives.
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As the flow of subliterary "news items" and anecdotes increases, the writer's work withers and stales until, in grim transference, his life becomes his oeuvre and he his only character.
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If misery loves company, then triumph demands an audience.
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The world's made up of individuals who don't want to be heroes.
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When you're a writer you no longer see things with the freshness of the normal person. There are always two figures that work inside you.
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