"we are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.-shakespeare
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.- Edna St. Vincent Millay
I thought when love for you died, I should die. It’s dead.Alone, most strangely, I live on. ~Rupert Brooke"
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