much of the discovery of the world was based on failure rather than on success – on tactical errors and pipe dreams.”

― David Grann, The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon

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Tobacco smoke! Blue-grey in wreaths,–
Blue laurel-wreaths which float in air,
As if, invisible, serene,
A dreaming angel hovered there,
A spirit of clam kindliness,–
A touch of eyes that smile through tears,–
A mantle of forgetfulness,
Thrown in the passions of the years.

I cross my knees, I puff my pipe,
The gentle Summer warmth creeps in;
The Summer warmth ‘mid Winter’s snows,–
For indolence shall banish sin,–
And watch the tasselled smoke-drops fall,
And note the fringed smoke-plumes rise,
And see the dreams, in legions, turn
To smoky nothings in the skies.

Tobacco smoke, like silken web,
Suspended in the restful airs,
To me and mine in soothing rhymes
A dainty, artless burden bears;
Let cares rage on– let hopes renew–
The Yesterday, Tomorrow be–
But we are wise the smoke and I;
We cease regrets and troubles flee.

-A. B. Tucker

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