BIRTHDAY
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Do you count your birthdays thankfully?—HORACE, Epistles
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A birthday—and now a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife—
A thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life.—JEAN INGELOW, A Birthday Walk
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And show me your nest with the young ones in it,
I will not steal them away;
I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet—
I am seven times one today.—JEAN INGELOW, Songs of Seven
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The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape.—SAMUEL JOHNSON, Boswell: Life
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My birthday!—what a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears;
And how each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.—THOMAS MOORE, My Birthday
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Is that a birthday? 'tis, alas! too clear;
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.—POPE, To Mrs. M. B.
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This day I breathed first: time is come round;
And where I did begin, there shall I end;
My life is run his compass.—SHAKESPEARE, Julius Caesar
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