awaiting the snow storm. pondering my life. quoting John Ford.

Here like a turtle mewed-up in a cage,
Unmated, I converse with air and walls,
And descant on my vile unhappiness.
O Giovanni, thou hast had the spoil
Of thine own virtue and my modest fame,
Would thou hadst been less subject to those stars
That luckless reigned at my nativity!
O would the scourge due to my black offense
Might pass from thee, that I alone might feel
The torment of an uncontrolled flame!

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