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You holiday with death for a while, then it’s back to work.
In the prison of our bodies we dread the moment when the cell door is flung open.
In youth I ordered a feast I’ve now no appetite for.
Either this life I’m in is very dream-like, or this dream I’m in is very life-like.
Death: The night at the end of the tunnel.
The infinite riches of an empty room.
Silence is the only language God speaks.