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For they conquer who believe they can.
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Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own: He who, secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
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The gates of Hell are open night and day Smooth the descent, and easy is the way But, to return, and view the cheerful skies In this, the task and mighty labor lies.
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A mob is the scum that rises upmost when the nation boils.
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They think to little who talk to much.
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