Quotes 13641 till 13660 of 25137.
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Number one: Don't frisk me. Don't hurt me physically. Don't get anywhere near my neck. And don't call me Regis. [Advice to his guests]
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Nuptial love makes mankind; friendly love perfects it; but wanton love corrupts and debases it.
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O can't you see, brother - Death's a congested road for fighters now, and hero a cheap label.
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O Charidas, what of the under world? Great darkness. And what of the resurrection? A lie. And Pluto? A fable; we perish utterly.
Source: Epigrams Epigram 14; translation from J. W. Mackail (ed.) S -
O comfort-killing night, image of hell, dim register and notary of shame, black stage for tragedies and murders fell, vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault!
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O curse of marriage that we can call these delicate creatures ours and not their appetites!
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O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet my song comes native with the warmth. O fret not after knowledge - I have none, and yet the Evening listens.
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O God, O God, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!
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O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause transform ourselves into beasts!
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O Holy Spirit, descend plentifully into my heart. Enlighten the dark corners of this neglected dwelling and scatter there Thy cheerful beams.
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O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.
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O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!
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O lyric Love, half angel and half bird. And all a wonder and a wild desire.
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O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
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O sleep, O gentle sleep, nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, that thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down and steep my senses in forgetfulness?
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O suns and skies and clouds of June, and flowers of June together. Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather.
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O Time and change! With hair as gray as was my sire's that winter day, how strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on!
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O world, world! thus is the poor agent despised. O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should our endeavor be so loved, and the performance so loathed?
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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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