A Quote by Titus Flavius Vespasian

The body of a dead enemy always smells sweet. — © Titus Flavius Vespasian
The body of a dead enemy always smells sweet.
Remember, gentlemen, what a Roman emperor said: The corpse of an enemy always smells sweet.
The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.
Each new Clarice, compact as a living body with its smells and its breath, shows off, like a gem, what remains of the ancient Clarices, fragmentary and dead.
A satyagrahi is dead to his body even before the enemy attempts to kill him.
The enemy of the black is not the white. The enemy of capitalist is not communist, the enemy of homosexual is not heterosexual, the enemy of Jew is not Arab, the enemy of youth is not the old, the enemy of hip is not redneck, the enemy of Chicano is not gringo and the enemy of women is not men. We all have the same enemy. The enemy is the tyranny of the dull mind. The enemy is every expert who practices technocratic manipulation, the enemy is every proponent of standardization and the enemy is every victim who is so dull and lazy and weak as to allow himself to be manipulated and standardized.
Praise from an enemy smells of craft.
Churchill , he is a great man. He is, of course, our enemy and has always been the enemy of Communism, but he is an enemy one must respect, an enemy one likes to have.
The gentlemen like it when a lady smells sweet.
My mom and I used to always get these Bath & Body Works candles but I like anything that smells warm. I love vanilla.
Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones.
I think Paris smells not just sweet but melancholy and curious, sometimes sad but always enticing and seductive. She's a city for the all senses, for artists and writers and musicians and dreamers, for fantasies, for long walks and wine and lovers and, yes, for mysteries.
Who knows if to live is to be dead, and to be dead, to live? And we really, it may be, are dead; in fact I once heard sages say that we are now dead, and the body is our tomb.
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
The sexual parts are not only vivid examples of the body's dominion; they are also apertures whose damp emissions and ammoniac smells testify to the mysterious putrefaction of the body.
Honor is an old-world thing; but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong.
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