“The mother weeps, the infant cries, the wild beast groans or roars, which is groaning, the tree shivrs, the grass shudders, the cloud growls, the mountain quakes, the forest murmurs, the wind complains, the bird sings. We are born, it is to suffer; we live, it is to suffer”
Victor Hugo. Postcript to my life. Postcriptum de ma vie.
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