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Rip:
"nothing is lost, nothing whatever; memory accumulates treasures, stored-up secrets grow in darkness and dust, and one day a transient visitor at a lending library wants a book that has not once been asked for in twenty-two years."
By Vladimir Nabukov.
True and very beautifully said. 
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And no one was ill, and everyone was pleased, except those who had to mow the grass.
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