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What with your friend you nobly share, At least you rescue from your heir.
Horace
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
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More quotes by Horace
Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
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The poet must put on the passion he wants to represent.
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Too indolent to bear the toil of writing I mean of writing well I say nothing about quantity. [Lat., Piger scribendi ferre laborem Scribendi recte, nam ut multum nil moror.]
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Justice, though moving with tardy pace, has seldom failed to overtake the wicked in their flight. [Lat., Raro antecedentem scelestum Deseruit pede poena claudo.]
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The whole race of scribblers flies from the town and yearns for country life.
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Painters and poets have equal license in regard to everything.
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A good resolve will make any port.
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What we learn only through the ears makes less impression upon our minds than what is presented to the trustworthy eye.
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He, that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbitt'ring all his state.
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The ox longs for the gaudy trappings of the horse the lazy pack-horse would fain plough. [We envy the position of others, dissatisfied with our own.]
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If matters go badly now, they will not always be so.
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And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low mimic follies of a farce, As a grave matron would to dance with girls.
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The more we deny ourselves, the more the gods supply our wants. [Lat., Quanto quisque sibi plura negaverit, A dis plura feret.]
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To please great men is not the last degree of praise.
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A host is like a general: calamities often reveal his genius.
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We are all compelled to take the same road from the urn of death, shaken for all, sooner or later the lot must come forth. [Lat., Omnes eodem cogimur omnium Versatur urna serius, ocius Sors exitura.]
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He can afford to be a fool.
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Thou oughtest to know, since thou livest near the gods. [Lat., Scire, deos quoniam propius contingis, oportet.]
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He who sings the praises of his boyhood's days.
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I have to submit to much in order to pacify the touchy tribe of poets.
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