There is no cleft of a rock, no bank of a stream, no shadow of a tree that is not occupied by some shepherd recounting his misfortunes to the wind. Whenever an echo can be heard, it repeats the name of Leandra, the mountains resound with the name of Leandra, the brooks do murmur Leandra, and Leandra holds us all enchanted and perplexed, hoping without hope and fearing without knowledge of what we fear.
( Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra )
[ Don Quixote ]
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