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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

You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.
MARTIAL

Book Myself Present Reading Yourself
A good man enlarges the term of his own existence.
MARTIAL

Existence Goodness Himself Man Term
If fame comes after death, I’m in no hurry for it.
MARTIAL

Death Fame Hurry Myself
Givers of great dinners know few enemies.
MARTIAL

Enemy Food Greatness
Whoever is not too wise is wise.
MARTIAL

One Liner Wisdom
Neither fear your death’s day nor long for it.
MARTIAL

Day Death Fear Yourself
If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
MARTIAL

Himself Leaving Mourn
Your seventh wife, Phileros, is now being buried in your field. No man’s field brings him greater profit than yours, Phileros.
MARTIAL

Bury Death Profit Wife Yourself
Man loves malice, but not against one-eyed men nor the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and proud.
MARTIAL

Eyes Love Man Proud Unfortunate
If my opinion is of any worth, the fieldfare is the greatest delicacy among birds, the hare among quadrupeds.
MARTIAL

Greatness Myself Opinion Worth
Who gives to friends so much from Fate secures, That is the only wealth for ever yours.
MARTIAL

Fate Friendship Secure Wealth Yourself
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
MARTIAL

Fame Life Man Name Yourself
Believing hear, what you deserve to hear: Your birthday as my own to me is dear. But yours gives most; for mine did only lend Me to the world; yours gave to me a friend.
MARTIAL

Believe Deserve Myself World
The virtuous man is never a novice in worldly things.
MARTIAL

Man Virtue World
My poems are naughty, but my life is pure.
MARTIAL

Life Naughty Poem Purity
The shameless Chloe placed on the tombs of her seven husbands the inscription, “The work of Chloe.” How could she have expressed herself more plainly?
MARTIAL

Expression Inscription Place Shame

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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