the philosophical notes of quaesitor.
once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary/over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore/while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping/as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
all that is gold does not glitter,
not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither,
deep roots are not reached by the frost.
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