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In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, came by it,
What stuff it is made of, wherefore it is born.
I am to learn;
And such a want wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
Shakespeare -- The Merchant of Venice
Ever felt like Antonio in "The Merchant of Venice"? Troubled by a constant, undeniable, inexplicable sadness which hangs like a dense cloud of mist?
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