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My blood was in a ferment within me, my heart was full of longing, sweetly and foolishly; I was all expectancy and wonder; I was tremulous and waiting; my fancy fluttered and circled about the same images like martinis round a bell-tower at dawn; I dreamed and was sad and sometimes cried. But through the tears and the melancholy, inspired by the music of the verse of the beauty of the evening, there always rose upwards, like the grasses of early spring, shoots of happy feeling, of young and surging life. - Ivan Turgenev, First Love