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Quando, à beira da impensável voragem do real, sobrevém a vertigem, o homem agarrar-se ao consolo das suas fantasias...

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"Remind yourself that you love a mortal, something not your own; it has been given to you for the present, not inseparably nor forever, but like a fig, or a bunch of grapes, at a fixed season of the year, and that if you yearn for it in the winter, you are a fool."

(Epictetus, Discourses)