ThursdayApr 18, 2024
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
In an orchard there should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be stolen, and enough to rot upon the ground.
Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just, Stoop'd down serene and wrote them in the dust, Trod under foot, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind. There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie, And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty eye.
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