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Between the Buried and Me

There is six feet of soil

25 April
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I who until then had never awakened without a smile at the humblest things, the bowl of coffee, the sound of rain, the roar of the wind, felt that the day which in a moment was about to dawn, and all the days to come, would no longer bring me the hope of an unknown happiness, but only the prolongation of my agony. I still clung to life; but I knew that I had nothing now but bitterness to expect from it. -Proust