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I admire the man who reveals his mind to me; I honor him who unveils his dreams. But why am I shy, and even a little ashamed before him who serves me?
The gifted were once proud in serving princes.
Now they claim honor in serving paupers.
The angels know that too many practical men eat their bread with the sweat of the dreamer’s brow.
Wit is often a mask. If you could tear it you would find either a genius irritated or cleverness juggling.
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