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"If only you were an Indian, instantly alert, and on a racing horse, leaning into the air, kept quivering up from the quivering ground, until you shed your spurs, for there were no spurs, threw away the reins, for there were no reins, and hardly saw that the land before you was smoothly shorn heath, with horse’s neck and horse’s head already gone.’"

Wish to be a Red Indian, Franz Kafka (1912)