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But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre, The falcone cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world...
Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.