The Mediterranean moray (Muraena helena), also known as the Roman eel, is a species of fish in the family Muraenidae, the moray eels. It has a long eel-like body and is found in the eastern Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. The species prefers rocky bottoms and lives at depths between 1 and 800 metres (3 and 2,620 ft), with the 100–300-metre (330–980 ft) range being the most common habitat. It is a territorial species and is more active at night, spending most of the day in cavities and clefts between rocks. It hunts fish, crabs and cephalopods, and its bite can be dangerous to humans. This Mediterranean moray was photographed off the coast of the Maltese island of Gozo.Photograph credit: Diego Delso
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It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!