The whispers of ink, preserved in amber light,
swirl like lost knowledge beneath frozen waters.
In corridors unseen, shadows recite forgotten lore,
of dreams that tremble on the edge of consciousness.
Here lies the syllabus of the soul's pale erudition:
Among relic statues and dusty amphitheaters,
a gust of memory unearths the fossilized thoughts:
"To be is to tremble, to tremble is to learn."
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