Inner beauty can not be quantified. It is a light in the heart. Jane Austen was said to be too ugly for book covers. Emily Dickinson was a pasty little freak who only left her father's house for late night walks.

I think about this often while listening to the superficial ramblings of nitwit whores.

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"You have been banned from making any new posts or sending private messages. The reason for this ban is: meh, cause i can"