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This fiddling and drifting and not impressing oneself upon anything – this always refraining and fingering and cutting things up into little jokes and...more

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The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.

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Millions of things came back to her. Atoms danced apart and massed themselves. But how did they compose what people called a life?

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The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.