Their feeble pamphlets, their smearily printed newspaper, seemed futile against the enormous blare of Corpo propaganda.
But partly led to diet my revenge […].
(see more in main entry)
Nothing, ſays Seneca, is ſo melancholy a circumſtance in human life, or ſo ſoon reconciles us to the thought of our own death, as the reflection and prospect of one friend after another dropping round us!
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