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Let’s be superficial and pity the poor Philosophers. Let’s blow trumpets and squeakers, and enjoy the party as much as we can, like very small, quite idiotic school-children. Let’s savour the delight of the moment. Come and kiss me darling, before your body rots, and worms pop in and out of your eye sockets. I don’t mind what you do, see? You can paint yourself bright green all over, and dance naked in the Place Vendome, and rush off madly with all the men in the world, and I shan’t say a word, as long as you love me best.
Noel Coward. “Private Lives”. Play Parade. London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1934. p.521
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