digital hoarding

At night, while everyone else was asleep, Goethe walked out of the house into the moonlit garden, where moths were flitting about the bushes. Here like a young man he dreamed, looked up to the sky, to the celestial regions, to the glittering constellations, friendly planets, and thought in his joy, in his self-oblivion, of a poem, and of good people faraway who were perhaps at this moment thinking of him.

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♥

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