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"In my poetry a rhyme Would seem to me almost insolent. Inside me contend Delight at the apple tree in blossom And horror at the house-painter’s speeches. But only the second Drives me to my desk."
"In my poetry a rhyme Would seem to me almost insolent. Inside me contend Delight at the apple tree in blossom And horror at the house-painter’s speeches. But only the second Drives me to my desk."
Bertolt Brecht
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