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Mad desire, when it has the most, longs for more
Ovid
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Ovid
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Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Desire
Longs
Mad
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Love is a thing full of anxious fears.
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With wavering steps does fickle fortune stray, Nowhere she finds a firm and fixed abode But now all smiles, and now again all frowns, She's constant only in inconstancy.
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Nothing is more powerful than custom or habit.
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As many as the shells that are on the shore, so many are the pains of love the darts that wound are steeped in much poison.
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Love is the force that leaves you colorless
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In your judgment virtue requires no reward, and is to be sought for itself, unaccompanied by external benefits. [Lat., Judice te mercede caret, per seque petenda est Externis virtus incomitata bonis.]
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She that weds well will wisely match her love, Nor be below her husband nor above.
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We are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings.
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Love is a kind of warfare.
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Majesty and love do not well agree, nor do they live together.
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We covet what is guarded the very care invokes the thief. Few love what they may have.
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There will grow from straws a mighty heap.
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Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it.
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Every delay that postpones our joys, is long. [Lat., Longa mora est nobis omnis, quae gaudia differt.]
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Whether you call my heart affectionate, or you call it womanish: I confess, that to my misfortune, it is soft.
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