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You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

Martial

If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your fists; give him some of the (hard) biscuit which famous Rhodes has sent you.
MARTIAL

Biscuit Commitment Mistake Slave Yourself
To-morrow I will live, the fool does say; To-day itself’s too late, the wise lived yesterday.
MARTIAL

Fools Future Past Wisdom
Fortune gives too much to many, enough to none.
MARTIAL

Enough Fortune Unfair
He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.
MARTIAL

Borrow Himself Lose Preference
For wealth’s now given to none but to the rich.
MARTIAL

Rich Wealth
He who thinks that the lives of Priam and of Nestor were long is much deceived and mistaken. Life consists not in living, but in enjoying health.
MARTIAL

Enjoyment Health Mistake Thinking
I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, “I do not love thee.”
MARTIAL

Love Myself
I know all that better than my own name.
MARTIAL

Better Myself Name
Gifts are like hooks.
MARTIAL

Gift One Liner
Nothing is more ill-timed than an ill-timed laugh.
MARTIAL

Laughter Time
He truly sorrows who sorrows unseen.
MARTIAL

Hide One Liner Sorrow True
It is not he who forms idols in gold or marble that makes them gods, but he who kneels before them.
MARTIAL

Form God Gold Himself
To have nothing is not poverty.
MARTIAL

One Liner Poverty
No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.
MARTIAL

Blood Death Easy Fame Hero Himself Man Purchase
The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved in amber, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar.
MARTIAL

Nectar Preserve Shine Shrine
You are sad in the midst of every blessing. Take care that Fortune does not observe–or she will call you ungrateful.
MARTIAL

Blessing Care Fortune Gratitude Observation Sadness Yourself

You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

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You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

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Popular Authors

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