FastSaying
Clay lies still, but blood's a rover; / Breath's a ware that will not keep. / Up, lad; when the journey's over / There'll be time enough for sleep.
A. E. Housman
Lies
Will
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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Now, of my threescore years and ten, / Twenty will not come again.
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About the woodlands I will go / To see the cherry hung with snow.
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They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, / The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
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The laws of God, the laws of man he may keep that will and can; not I: let God and man decree laws for themselves and not for me.
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