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Quote by Marion Bekoe

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Marion Bekoe

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“Why do I speak of joy or write of love, When my heart is the very den of horror, And in my soul the pains of hell I prove, With all his tormented and infernal terror? What should I say? what yet remains to do? My brain is dry with weeping all too long; My signs be spent in utt'ring of my woe, And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong. Love's Lunacy: Sonnet XLI”

“He came into my life in February 1932 and never left it again. More than a quarter of a century has passed since then, more than nine thousand days, desultory and tedious, hollow with the sense of effort or work without hope- days and years, many of them as dead as dry leaves on a dead tree. I can remember the day and the hour when I first set eyes on this boy who was to be the source of my greatest happiness and of my greatest despair.”