Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun; Now I may wither into the truth.
“In ancient times—’twas no great loss— They hung the thief upon the cross: But now, alas!—I say’t with grief— They hang the cross upon the thief.”
Anonymous | “On a Nomination to the Legion of Honour”
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