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Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
Horace
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Horace
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Loving
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Silently
Hair
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Age
Tombs
Away
Cheek
Years
Cheeks
Drop
Wrinkled
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Live mindful of how brief your life is.
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Labor diligently to increase your property.
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All singers have this fault: if asked to sing among friends they are never so inclined if unasked, they never leave off.
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In the word of no master am I bound to believe.
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Riches either serve or govern the possessor.
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It is the false shame of fools to try to conceal wounds that have not healed.
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It was a wine jar when the molding began: as the wheel runs round why does it turn out a water pitcher?
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When a man is just and firm in his purpose, The citizens burning to approve a wrong Or the frowning looks of a tyrant Do not shake his fixed mind, nor the Southwind. Wild lord of the uneasy Adriatic, Nor the thunder in the mighty hand of Jove: Should the heavens crack and tumble down, As the ruins crushed him he would not fear.
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Man learns more readily and remembers more willingly what excites his ridicule than what deserves esteem and respect.
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What wonders does not wine! It discloses secrets ratifies and confirms our hopes thrusts the coward forth to battle eases the anxious mind of its burden instructs in arts. Whom has not a cheerful glass made eloquent! Whom not quite free and easy from pinching poverty!
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A picture is a poem without words
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What does it avail you, if of many thorns only one be removed.
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The words can not return.
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O drink is mighty! secrets it unlocks, Turns hope to fact, sets cowards on to box, Takes burdens from the careworn, finds out parts In stupid folks, and teaches unknown arts. What tongue hangs fire when quickened by the bowl? What wretch so poor but wine expands his soul?
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What prevents a man's speaking good sense with a smile on his face?
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The man is either mad or his is making verses. [Lat., Aut insanit homo, aut versus facit.]
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The horse would plough, the ox would drive the car. No do the work you know, and tarry where you are.
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Who then is free? the wise man who is lord over himself Whom neither poverty nor death, nor chains alarm strong to withstand his passions and despise honors, and who is completely finished and rounded off in himself.
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