If the matter of death is reduced to sleep and rest, what can there be so bitter in it, that any one should pine in eternal grief for the decease of a friend?
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Anand Thakur
If the matter of death is reduced to sleep and rest, what can there be so bitter in it, that any one should pine in eternal grief for the decease of a friend?
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There can be no centre in infinity.
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The water hollows out the stone, not by force but drop by drop.
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I own with reason: for, if men but knew Some fixed end to ills, they would be strong By some device unconquered to withstand Religions and the menacings of seers.
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The highest summits and those elevated above the level of other things are mostly blasted by envy as by a thunderbolt.
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Tears for the mourners who are left behind Peace everlasting for the quiet dead.
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The mask is torn off, while the reality remains
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Why dost thou not retire like a guest sated with the banquet of life, and with calm mind embrace, thou fool, a rest that knows no care?
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Our life must once have end; in vain we fly From following Fate; e’en now, e’en now, we die.
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For out of doubt In these affairs ’tis each man’s will itself That gives the start, and hence throughout our limbs Incipient motions are diffused.
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When bodies spring apart, because the air Somehow condenses, wander they from truth: For then a void is formed, where none before; And, too, a void is filled which was before.
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Those vestiges of natures left behind Which reason cannot quite expel from us Are still so slight that naught prevents a man From living a life even worthy of the gods.
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What once sprung from the earth sinks back into the earth.
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The wailing of the newborn infant is mingled with the dirge for the dead.
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Not they who reject the gods are profane, but those who accept them.
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Men are eager to tread underfoot what they have once too much feared.
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