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There is a great solitude about such a shore.
The woods are never solitary- they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life. But the sea is a mighty soul, forever moaning of some great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself for all eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery- we may only wander, awed and spell-bound, on the outer fringe of it. The woods call to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one only- a mighty voice that drowns our souls in its majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of the company of the archangels.
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It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's bed and there, abandoning all effort and all resistance, to bury even one's head under the cover, giving one's self up to it completely, moaning like branches in the autumn wind. But there is still a better bed, full of divine odors. It is our sweet, our profound, our impenetrable friendship.
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Which, of course, isn't the point of writing - but it would be nice if, along with the creative satisfaction of writing and seeing my work in print, I could do more than merely scrape a living. Okay, moaning over.
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I do a job I really, really love and I kind of have fun with.
People think you can't be grown up unless you're moaning about your job.
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Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning.
I was much further out than you thought, and not waving but drowning. I was much too far out all my life, And not waving but drowning.
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A girl's got to do what she's got to do to make somebody pay her a compliment.
If that means moaning 'til the cows come home, then so be it.
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I like doing a challenging class because it makes me more brave in life.
My perception of hardships is now completely different. I'm not whining and moaning inside as much.