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Awonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like thesesweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone,and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for thebliss of souls like mine.

I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite sense ofmere tranquil existence, that I neglect my talents. I should beincapable of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet Ifeel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, while the lovely

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Farfar away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia andConsonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live inBookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large languageocean.

A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with thenecessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roastedparts of sentences fly into your mouth.

Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic lifeOne day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands ofbad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the LittleBlind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put herinitial into the belt and made herself on the way.

When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had alast view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, theheadline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the LineLane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then

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One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment.

His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked. "What's happened to me? " he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.

It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer. Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad. "How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense", he thought, but that was something he was unable to do because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state couldn't get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the floundering legs, and only stopped when