WednesdayFeb 25, 2026
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
My mirth can laugh and talk, but cannot sing: My grief finds harmonies in everything.
The world rolls round forever like a mill; It grinds out deaths and life and good and ill; It has no purpose, heart or mind or will.
But happy they, the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their Hearts, their Fortunes, and their Beings blend.
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