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I can reason down or deny everything, except this perpetual Belly: feed he must and will, and I cannot make him respectable.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
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But oh, how slowly minutes roll
When absent from her eyes,
That feed my love, which is my soul:
It languishes and dies.
—John Wilmot, 2d Earl Of Rochester (1647–1680)