All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. “What happened then?” Michelle asked fearfully. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. Things haven't gone quite as smoothly as I anticipated; but they might have been worse.
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