A Quote by Horace

Ye who write, choose a subject suited to your abilities.
[Lat., Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam Viribus.] — © Horace
Ye who write, choose a subject suited to your abilities. [Lat., Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam Viribus.]

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When the body is assailed by the strong force of time and the limbs weaken from exhausted force, genius breaks down, and mind and speech fail. [Lat., Ubi jam valideis quassatum est viribus aevi Corpus, et obtuseis ceciderunt viribus artus, Claudicat ingenium delirat linguaque mensque.]
Who is a good man? He who keeps the decrees of the fathers, and both human and divine laws. [Lat., Vir bonus est quis? Qui consulta patrum, qui leges juraque servat.]
Choose a subject equal to your abilities; think carefully what your shoulders may refuse, and what they are capable of bearing.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name. [Lat., Nolo virum facili redimit qui sanquine famam; Hunc volo laudari qui sine morte potest.]
One eye-witness is of more weight than ten hearsays. Those who hear, speak of shat they have heard; whose who see, know beyond mistake. [Lat., Pluris est oculatus testis unus, quam auriti decem. Qui audiunt, audita dicunt; qui vident, plane sciunt.]
Louers be war and tak gude heid about Quhome that ye lufe, for quhome ye suffer paine. I lat yow wit, thair is richt few thairout Quhome ye may traist to haue trew lufe agane.
It's not a very popular subject amongst my audience, who are by nature more internationalist, but I don't choose what to write about, I don't choose my subjects, they kind of choose me.
If you choose your subject selectively - intuitively - the camera can write poetry.
Silence gives consent. [Lat., Qui tacet, consentire videtur.]
The man who flies shall fight again. [Lat., Qui fugiebat, rusus praeliabitur.]
Ye poor posterity, think not that ye are the first. Other fools before ye have seen the sun rise and set, and the moon change her shape and her hour. As they were so ye are; and yet not so great; for the pyramids my people built stand to this day; whilst the dustheaps on which ye slave, and which ye call empires, scatter in the wind even as ye pile your dead sons' bodies on them to make yet more dust.
O thou beautiful And unimaginable ether! and Ye multiplying masses of increased And still increasing lights! what are ye? what Is this blue wilderness of interminable Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen The leaves along the limpid streams of Eden? Is your course measur'd for ye? Or do ye Sweep on in your unbounded revelry Through an aerial universe of endless Expansion,--at which my soul aches to think,-- Intoxicated with eternity.
Where'er ye sojourn, and whatever names Ye are or shall be called; fairies, or sylphs, Nymphs of the wood or mountain, flood or field: Live ye in peace, and long may ye be free To follow your good minds.
Let those who have deserved their punishment, bear it patiently. [Lat., Aequo animo poenam, qui meruere, ferant.]
People want to call me racist for doing the Bon Qui Qui character, and I'm like, 'Look, Bon Qui Qui is a representation of a hood chick. That's it.' There are lots of hood chicks out there: some are black, some are Mexican, some are Salvadorian, and some are white.
He who would eat the kernel, must crack the shell. [Lat., Qui e nuce nucleum esse vult, frangat nucem.]
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