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Authors:

Now I am quietly waiting forthe catastrophe of my personalityto seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern. The country is grey andbrown and white in trees, snows and skies of laughteralways diminishing, less funnynot just darker, not just grey. It may be the coldest day ofthe year, what does he think ofthat? I mean, what do I? And if I do, perhaps I am myself again.

Frank O'Hara