A Quote by Horace

Pale death with an impartial foot knocks at the hovels of the poor and the palaces of king. — © Horace
Pale death with an impartial foot knocks at the hovels of the poor and the palaces of king.

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Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings.
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings. [Lat., Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Regumque turres.]
Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.
Pale death approaches with equal step, and knocks indiscriminately at the door of teh cottage, and the portals of the palace.
Character is built out of circumstances. From exactly the same materials, one man builds palaces, while another builds hovels.
On this waterlogged landscape....are scattered palaces and hovels....It is here that the human spirit becomes perfect, and at the same time brutalised, that civilisation produces its marvels and that civilised man returns to the savage.
I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
With equal pace, impartial Fate Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate.
The Impartial Friend: Death, the only immortal who treats us all alike, whose pity and whose peace and whose refuge are for all--the soiled and the pure, the rich and the poor, the loved and the unloved.
If anybody would make me the greatest king that ever lived, with palaces, and gardens and fine dinners, and wine, and coaches, and beautiful clothes, and hundreds of servants, on condition that I would not read books, I would not be a king.
Who was the fool, who the wise man, beggar or king? Whether poor or rich, all's the same in death.
Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue,with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.
Labor produces marvels for the rich but it produces deprivation for the worker. It produces palaces, but hovels for the worker. It produces beauty, but deformity for the worker. It replaces labor by machines, but it throws one section of the workers back to barbaric labor, and it turns the remainder into machines.
The impartial earth opens alike for the child of the pauper and the king.
You can't grow up without taking a few knocks on the way. All parents know that, but children when they're growing up, they take some knocks, and nasty knocks sometimes if they've been too protected.
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