A man was sailing in calm waters in an expensive boat. Looking about himself, he was very satisfied with himself and his boat, and glancing at the waters beneath him he declared, "The ocean is not great. I, on the other hand . . . " - though this last bit, and what remained of it, was more felt than uttered, or if it was uttered it was done so very quietly. He might have felt though like roaring it.
Sadly though, things alter, and after a while the weather changed, the sea grew rough and rougher, the expensive boat was tossed about as a thing of nothing, was soon enough smashed on the rocks, and the little man was swallowed up by the waters and heard of no more.
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And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
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