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Who then is sane? He who is not a fool.
Horace
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Horace
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Insanity
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The cask will long retain the flavour of the wine with which it was first seasoned.
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Painters and poets have equal license in regard to everything.
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Humble things become the humble.
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No one is born without vices, and he is the best man who is encumbered with the least.
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Small things become small folks.
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I hate the irreverent rabble and keep them far from me.
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How does it happen, Maecenas, that no one is content with that lot in life which he has chosen, or which chance has thrown in his way, but praises those who follow a different course? [Lat., Qui fit, Maecenas, ut nemo quam sibi sortem, Seu ratio dederit, seu fors objecerit, illa Contentus vivat? laudet diversa sequentes.]
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The musician who always plays on the same string is laughed at.
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Never inquire into another man's secret bur conceal that which is intrusted to you, though pressed both be wine and anger to reveal it.
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The mad is either insane or he is composing verses.
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Happy and thrice happy are those who enjoy an uninterrupted union, and whose love, unbroken by any sour complaints, shall not dissolve until the last day of their existence.
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Not to hope for things to last forever, is what the year teaches and even the hour which snatches a nice day away.
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In avoiding one vice fools rush into the opposite extreme.
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A host is like a general: calamities often reveal his genius.
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One gains universal applause who mingles the useful with the agreeable, at once delighting and instructing the reader.
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He that finds out he's changed his lot for worse, Let him betimes the untoward choice reverse: For still, when all is said, the rule stands fast, That each man's shoe be made on his own last.
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The great virtue of parents is a great dowry.
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I am not bound over to swear allegiance to any master where the storm drives me I turn in for shelter.
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We are dust and shadow. [Lat., Pulvis et umbra sumus.]
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He who postpones the hour of living as he ought, is like the rustic who waits for the river to pass along (before he crosses) but it glides on and will glide forever. [Lat., Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis at ille Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum.]
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