Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words tripped up, bewildered and so defeated - thrown aside - a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.
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I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.
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Nothing whips my blood like verse.
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The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.
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Time is a storm in which we are all lost.
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What power has love but forgiveness?
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When they ask me, as of late they frequently do, how I have for so many years continued an equal interest in medicine and the poem, I reply that they amount for me to nearly the same thing.
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