Charles Baudelaire
To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.
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What had begun as a movement to free all black people...How far that little candle throws its beams!...No one lies so boldly as the man who is indignant...Don't worry that children never listen to you...Our deeds determine us...My recording career has luckily run...
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