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one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:which halves reintegrating,shall occurno death and any quantity;but thanall numerable mosts the actual moreminds ignorant of stern miraculousthis everytruth-beware of heartless them(given the scalpel,they dissect a kiss;or,sold the reason,they undream a dream)one is the song which friends and angels sing:all murdering lies by mortals told make two.Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned;we(by a gift called dying born)must growdeep in dark least ourselves rememberinglove only rides his year.All lose, whole find
—e. e. cummings
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But if you will think of ourselves as coming out of the earth, rather than having been thrown in here from somewhere else, you see that we are the earth, we are the consciousness of the earth.These are the eyes of the earth.
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Although the evening is cold and starless
And the rain is raging,
I'm still singing my song during this period,
Don't know who's listening.
Though the world is drowned in war and fear,
At some point
Burning secretly, if no one sees them,
The love continues.
—Hermann Hesse
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