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But age, the common enemy of mankind, has laid his hand upon you; would that it had fallen upon some other, and that you were still young.
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From his tongue flowed speech sweeter than honey.
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Generations of men are like the leaves. In winter, winds blow them down to earth, but then, when spring season comes again, the budding wood grows more. And so with men: one generation grows, another dies away.
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For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.
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Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold; Not all Apollo's Pythian treasures hold, Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway, Can bribe the poor possession of the day.
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Singing is the lowest form of communication.
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Friend, many and many a dream is mere confusion a cobweb of no consequence at all. Two gates for ghostly dreams there are: One gateway of honest horn, and one of ivory. Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams of glimmering illusion, fantasies, but those that come through solid polished horn may be borne out, if mortals only know them.
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And Heaven, that every virtue bears in mind, E'en to the ashes of the just is kind.
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I'll get out of this city alive, even if it kills me!
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The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us.
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Oall the creatures that creep and breathe on earth, there is none more wretched than man.
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I've always wondered if there was a God. And now I know there is -- and it's me.
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There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.
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Wine gives strength to weary men.
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The proof of battle is action, proof of words, debate. No time for speeches now, it's time to fight.
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In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare!
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And endless are the modes of speech, and far Extends from side to side the field of words.
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Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
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Beware the toils of war ... the mesh of the huge dragnet sweeping up the world.
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No trust is to be placed in women.
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I only hope those rumors I hear about what goes on in prison are greatly exaggerated.
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But sure the eye of time beholds no name, So blest as thine in all the rolls of fame.
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Content to follow when we lead the way.
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Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That’s how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.