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Bad herdsmen waste the flocks which thou hast left behind.
Homer
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Homer
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Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
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Shoulder-to-shoulder, swing to the work, we must - just two as we are - if we hope to make some headway. The worst cowards, banded together, have their power, but you and I have got the skill to fight their best.
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For too much rest becomes a pain.
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And here I am using my own lungs like a sucker.
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Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
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How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise!
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The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.
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Be still my heart thou hast known worse than this.
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Jove lifts the golden balances that show The fates of mortal men, and things below.
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Short is my date, but deathless my renown.
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Two diverse gates there are of bodiless dreams, These of sawn ivory, and those of horn. Such dreams as issue where the ivory gleams Fly without fate, and turn our hopes to scorn. But dreams which issue through the burnished horn, What man soe'er beholds them on his bed, These work with virtue and of truth are born.
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