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Leave the rest to the gods.
Horace
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Horace
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Gods
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Literature
More quotes by Horace
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
Horace
Of what use are laws, inoperative through public immortality? [Lat., Quid leges sine moribus Vanae proficiunt?]
Horace
We are often deterred from crime by the disgrace of others.
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If nothing is delightful without love and jokes, then live in love and jokes.
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Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow's span to this day's sum?
Horace
Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth, and set down as gain each day that fortune grants.
Horace
Once sent out, a word takes wings beyond recall.
Horace
Who then is free? The wise who can command his passions, who fears not want, nor death, nor chains, firmly resisting his appetites and despising the honors of the world, who relies wholly on himself, whose angular points of character have all been rounded off and polished.
Horace
Let this be your wall of brass, to have nothing on your conscience, no guilt to make you turn pale.
Horace
For example, the tiny ant, a creature of great industry, drags with its mouth whatever it can, and adds it to the heap which she is piling up, not unaware nor careless of the future.
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There is a measure in everything. There are fixed limits beyond which and short of which right cannot find a resting place.
Horace
Superfluous words simply spill out when the mind is already full.
Horace
If you rank me with the lyric poets, my exalted head shall strike the stars. [Lat., Quod si me lyricis vatibus inseris, Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.]
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You have played enough you have eaten and drunk enough. Now it is time for you to depart.
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In trying to be concise I become obscure.
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And seek for truth in the groves of Academe.
Horace
Sorrowful words become the sorrowful angry words suit the passionate light words a playful expression serious words suit the grave. [Lat., Tristia maestum Vultum verba decent iratum, plena minarum Ludentem, lasciva: severum, seria dictu.]
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Mistakes are their own instructors
Horace
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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Victory is by nature superb and insulting.
Horace