Only now is the child finally divested of all that he has been. His origins are become remote as is his destiny and not again in all the world's turning will there be terrains so wild and barbarous to try whether the stuff of creation may be shaped to man's will or whether his own heart is not another kind of clay.
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners have much more fun.
hangin' round
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