You don't know how much power a leather pouch has,
and a day's ration of lupin seeds, and to care for nothing.
οὐκ οἶσθα, πήρα δύναμιν ἡλίκην ἔχει
θέρμων τε χοῖνιξ καὶ τὸ μηδενὸς μέλειν.
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Friday, July 26, 2024
Power
Crates of Thebes, fragment 18 in Hermann Diels, ed., Poetarum Philosophorum Fragmenta (Berlin: Weidmann, 1901), p. 223 (my translation):