the pleasures of the damnedare limited to brief momentsof happiness:like eyes in the look of a dog,like a square of wax,like a fire taking city hall,the county,the continent,like fire taking the hairof maidens and monsters;and hawks buzzing in peach trees,the sea running between their claws,Timedrunk and damp,everything burning,everything wet,everything fine.
-Charles Bukowski
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