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It is a wise child that knows his own father. [Lat., Nondum enim quisquam suum parentem ipse cognosvit.]
Homer
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Homer
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Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
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By turns the nine delight to sing
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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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The other day, I was so desperate for a beer, I snuck into the football stadium and ate the dirt under the bleachers.
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The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us.
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The ugliest man was he who came to Troy with squinting eyes and one distorted foot.
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[But] age, the common enemy of mankind, has laid his hand upon you would that it had fallen upon some other, and that you were still young.
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How vain, without the merit, is the name.
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I detest the man who hides on thing in the depths of his heart and speaks forth another.
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Our fruitless labours mourn, And only rich in barren fame return.
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Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
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Thou shalt not take moochers into thy hut?
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He knew how to say many false things that were like true sayings.
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There is satiety in all things, in sleep, and love-making, in the loveliness of singing and the innocent dance.
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…but there they lay, sprawled across the field, craved far more by the vultures than by wives.
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