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— Ovid"The earth yields up her stores, of every ill The instigators; iron, foe to man, And gold, than iron deadlier."
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I lost the love of heaven above I spurned the lust of earth below I felt the sweets of fancied love And hell itself my only foe.
— John Clare
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Better confide and be deceiv'd, A thousand times, by treacherous foes, Than once accuse the innocent, Or let suspicion mar repose.
— Frances Sargent Osgood
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