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Here (Poland), we have more winter than summer, more ice than sunshine; and Vodka is nothing but melted ice. Every nation drinks in this way: the Italians and the French drink the gold of melted sunshine, we the ice. That’s why a Pole glides through life as if on skates, and that is why he often staggers, for he finds it slippery. The Pole’s sorrow is so hot that he finds in necessary to cool it with vodka, the sorrow of other nations, the sorrow of other nations is so cold so they have to fuel it with wine



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