“There is no living with thee, nor without thee.”

My poems are naughty, but my life is pure.

To-morrow I will live, the fool does say; To-day itself’s too late, the wise lived yesterday.

Every epigram should resemble a bee; it should have sting, honey, and brevity.

It is to live twice when we can enjoy the recollections of our former life.

I am a shell-fish just come from being saturated with the waters of the Lucrine lake, near Baiae; but now I luxuriously thrust for noble pickle.

You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.

Our days pass by, and are scored against us.

In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a wretched life.

Fortune gives too much to many, enough to none.

This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death?

Life is not living, but living in health.

You ask what a nice girl will do? She won’t give an inch, but she won’t say no.

Genuine is the sorrow endured without anyone else knowing about it.

Birds of a feather will flock together.

Tomorrow’s life is too late. Live today.

Some are good, some are middling, the most are bad.