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The incessant fever of that arid thirst Which welcomes as a well the clouds that burst Above their naked heads, and feels delight In the cold drenchings of the stormy night. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron) The panting thirst, which scorches in the breath Of those that die the soldier's fiery death, In vain impels the burning mouth to crave One drop--one last--to cool it for the grave. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron) It's a wretched business To be digging a well Just as thirst is overcoming you. [Lat., Miserum est opus, Igitur demum fodere puteum, Ubi sitis fauces tenet.] - Plautus (Titus Maccius Plautus)
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