About love that blooms, without knowing shame, on any piles of rubbish, and when it is, then everything else does not matter much. Yes, I don't want to live like these people, but if I am unbiased, it is clear that they live self—sufficient and ecstatically, that this life, with all its grimaces, suits them quite well, and that it really is life. Regardless of the speculative assessments that we are in a hurry to give her.
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