The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare upon the brain of the living. -- Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte (Robert C. Tucker, ed., The Marx-Engels Reader, pg. 437).
And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, Ioying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. -- Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Canto I
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