Being a female is losing its mystery. Just about anyone can attain the female mystery. Construct what you say, look down, be demure. Paint your nails… sigh fucking sigh and smile at the same time. Fabricate, lie, lie lie lie. Reflect, deflect, PERFECT!!! Answer a question with a question. Lead people on a chase that really goes nowhere. Look to the
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"Let drama, sorrow and death persist implacably...the drama is not a punishment. Sorrow does not signify the fall of man nor death his accession to life. These elements, one and all, proclaim and arouse him an inexhaustible imagination; it creates power, the power to surmount them, and goes on to the point of fertilizing the ashes of his passions. Terrible as life may be, the existence of the creative activity without any other end than itself is enough to justify it. The game evidently appears, at first sight, the least useful of our deeds but it becomes the most useful when we discover that it increases our enthusiasm for life and makes us forget death....THE END"
The ending to an art history book, entitled: The Spirit of the Forms. OOOOooooh ahHHhhhhhhhh. The rest of the book is snore worthy, but the end, pure quoteable goodness.
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