William Wordsworth She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. [...]
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And Love says, "I will, I will take care of you," to everything that is near. --Hafiz
I am Mamacita. Accept no substitutes!
Hitting the fan like no one else can. . .
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I don't suffer fools gladly, and I don't think you should, either.

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