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I don't think I'm bitter so much as angry at all those wasted years. Sad too... I figure the best I can do is not waste any more. I'm trying to use the anger as a drive to make the life I want for myself.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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