Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.
-Ezra Pound
I just want to say how very much I miss these, moved out of the lab because we finished the experiments (during which subjects had to rest) and because the floor space needed to be reclaimed.
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