DDAmanda

[Zardiw]

Wordsworth:

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come,
From God who is our home.

Pressfield, Steven. The War of Art (p. 145). Black Irish Entertainment LLC. Kindle Edition.

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