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“They brought me word of your death, Heraklieitos, and I wept for you remembering how often we watched the sun setting as we talked. Dear Halikarnassian friend, you lie elsewhere now and are mere ashes; yet your songs—your nightingales—will live, and never will the underworld, destroying everything, touch them with its deadly hand.” — Kallimachos

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They brought me word of your death, Heraklieitos, and I wept for you remembering how often we watched the sun setting as we talked. Dear Halikarnassian friend, you lie elsewhere now and are mere ashes; yet your songs—your nightingales—will live, and never will the underworld, destroying everything, touch them with its deadly hand.
— Kallimachos