To the east, the night grew a faggot of luminous grey, then seashell opalescence that dimmed the stars. There came the long, bell-tolling movement of dawn striking across a broken horizon.

One can&#39;t write for all readers. A poet cannot write for people who don&#39;t like poetry.

Fashion is a very particular world, as you know.

a mental hospital, insanity, an insane asylum, where people were not ashamed to say that they were crazy, where no one stopped doing something they were enjoying just to be nice to others.

Written By Paulo Coelho

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