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No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.