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An evil life is a kind of death.
Ovid
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Ovid
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Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Death
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Life
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Evil
More quotes by Ovid
This letter gives me a tongue and were I not allowed to write, I should be dumb. [Lat., Praebet mihi littera linguam: Et, si non liceat scribere, mutus ero.]
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A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of rumour. [Lat., Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit.]
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Women can always be caught that's the first rule of the game.
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Men do not value a good deed unless it brings a reward.
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Little things please little minds.
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Tis on the living Envy feeds. She silent grows When, after death, man's honor is his guard. So I, when on the pyre consumed I lie, Shall live, for all that's noblest will survive.
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So long as you are secure you will count many friends if your life becomes clouded you will be alone.
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Bear and endure: This sorrow will one day prove to be for your good.
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An injury may prove a blessing.
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As God is propitiated by the blood of a hundred bulls, so also is he by the smallest offering of incense. [Lat., Sed tamen ut fuso taurorum sanguine centum, Sic capitur minimo thuris honore deux.]
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Heavens! what thick darkness pervades the minds of men. [Lat., Pro superi! quantum mortalia pectora caecae, Noctis habent.]
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Concealed sorrow bursts the heart, and rages within us as an internal fire.
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Whether they yield or refuse, it delights women to have been asked.
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Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all.
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What is allowed us is disagreeable, what is denied us causes us intense desire.
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Seeking is all very well, but holding requires greater talent: Seeking involves some luck now the demand is for skill.
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It is the mind that makes the man, and our vigour is in our immortal soul.
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Grief brims itself and flows away in tears.
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Cunning leads to knavery. It is but a step from one to the other, and that very slippery. Only lying makes the difference add that to cunning, and it is knavery.
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The dove, O hawk, that has once been wounded by thy talons, is frightened by the least movement of a wing. [Lat., Terretur minimo pennae stridore columba Unguibus, accipiter, saucia facta tuis.]
Ovid