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If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial and last love;
[...] I will be thine.
—William Shakespeare, Love’s Labours Lost, Act V, Scene II, lines 824-826 and 830.
Keeping the pantry stocked with flour, sugar, chocolate chips, and lots of warm fuzzies.
Laboring to like a location I long to leave.
Attempts to observe one of nature’s greatest marvels in her natural habitat.
Experimenting with that oh-so-fine line between man and animal.