Cry , the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him laugh not too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

I'm peeling badly after my tan, back to square one. maybe I should just accept my fate of being white and pale. eww.
Clara is a bimbo, oh yeah!!