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Authors:

Paracelsus At times I almost dream. I too have spent a life the sage? way, And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance. I perished in an arrogant self-reliance. Ages ago; and in that act a prayer. For one more chance went up so earnest, so. Instinct with better light let in by death, That life was blotted out? not so completely. But scattered wrecks enough of it remain, Dim memories, as now, when once more seems. The goal in sight again.

Robert Browning