I'm still reading about Scott of the Antartic. Cardiff still breeds roaring plebs, howling for glory not bread. I'd translate it into Latin and adopt it as a motto if I wasn't so plebian myself.
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I wait patiently, with no urgency. I have been granted all the time there is. I do not try to make anything of what I see. I hold no expectation or assumption that I know anything at all.
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