A Quote by Seneca the Younger

Leave in concealment what has long been concealed. — © Seneca the Younger
Leave in concealment what has long been concealed.
Rick Perry told reporters this week that he has a permit to carry a concealed handgun. He also has a concealed vocabulary, concealed knowledge of the issues, concealed tolerance.
Ideological thinking becomes emancipated from the reality that we perceive with our five senses, and insists on a 'truer' reality concealed behind all perceptible things, dominating them from this place of concealment and requiring a sixth sense that enables us to become aware of it.
So long as you minded your manners and kept your weapons concealed, they let you enter and leave in peace. Those who broke the one house rule of “No Spill Blood” quickly found themselves leaving in pieces.’ (Gallagher)
I am your lover, come to my side, I will open the gate to your love. Come settle with me, let us be neighbors to the stars. You have been hiding so long, endlessly drifting in the sea of my love. Even so, you have always been connected to me. Concealed, revealed, in the unknown, in the un-manifest. I am life itself. You have been a prisoner of a little pond, I am the ocean and its turbulent flood. Come merge with me, leave this world of ignorance. Be with me, I will open the gate to your love.
Art is brief. (Not in a temporal sense.) [...] Words are for concealment. Art is concealment.
For too long, we have been a passively tolerant society, saying to our citizens: as long as you obey the law, we will leave you alone.
I always showed myself in the face of day, asserting the liberty and independence of my country, while some others, like owls, courted concealment and were too much afraid of losing their roosts to leave them for such a cause.
So much of my life has been about self-effacement, pretense, masquerading, concealment, and indirection.
It is often wise to reveal that which cannot be concealed for long.
Long and long has the grass been growing, Long and long has the rain been falling, Long has the globe been rolling round.
Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the roads.
Have you never observed that children will sometimes, of a sudden, give utterance to ideas which makes us wonder how they got possession of them? Which presuppose a long series of other ideas and secret self-communings? Which break forth like a full stream out of the earth, an infallible sign that the stream was not produced in a moment from a few raindrops, but had long been flowing concealed beneath the ground?
There are not that many people who can say they have been on a show long enough to leave it. Usually, you don't have a choice. The show gets canceled. There are very few people who live in the rare air of being able to leave a show while it is still in production.
I leave you love. I leave you hope. I leave you the challenge of developing confidence in one another. I leave you respect for the use of power. I leave you faith. I leave you racial dignity.
It's definitely been a long, long... long, long, long, long, long journey since I was selling burnt CD's out of my backpack in downtown Oakland.
After the writers' strike, I came back with my tail between my legs and apologized to everyone. I had been telling them I was going to leave, and I said, "I'm never going to leave," and that I'd stay with them as long as I can. And I really enjoyed the last two and a half seasons of Numbers more than before.
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