"Do not go gently into that good night but rage, rage against the dying of the light."
"I liked the taste of beer, its live, white lather, its brass-bright depths, the sudden world through the wet-brown walls of the glass, the tilted rush to the lips and the slow swallowing down to the lapping belly, the salt on the tongue, the foam at the corners."
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Source: Dylan Thomas (1986). “The Collected Stories”, p.211, New Directions Publishing
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