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Tuesday, December 05, 2017

which seems endless

Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet quam hoc exiguum:

O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence: live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man's search
To vaster issues.
    So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world...

George Eliot.

ntodd

December 5, 2017 | Permalink

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