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Een vertaalprobleem melden
Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp! cries she
With silent lips. Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me...
-- Emma Lazarus, "The New Colossus"
What's love but a second-hand emotion?
-- Tina Turner
The street preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With forty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his
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