If we only had a few more voices like this:
RIP
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They Say it. We Hate It
Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust. Hatred alone is immortal
From “On the Pleasure of Hating” (1826)
~ William Hazlitt
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