• And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.

    Maya Angelou (2011). “I Shall Not Be Moved: Poems”, p.48, Random House
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