He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
MARTIALWhen your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.
More Martial Quotes
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No amount of misfortune will satisfy the man who is not satisfied with reading a hundred epigrams.
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Short is the life of those who possess great accomplishments, and seldom do they reach a good old age. Whatever thou lovest, pray that thou mayest not set too high a value on it.
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A fisherman’s walk: three steps and overboard.
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If my opinion is of any worth, the fieldfare is the greatest delicacy among birds, the hare among quadrupeds.
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What’s a wretched man? A man whom no man pleases.
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A vagrant is everywhere at home.
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You ask what a nice girl will do? She won’t give an inch, but she won’t say no.
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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.
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There is nothing more revolting than an old busybody.
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Glory comes too late when we are nought but ashes.
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Fortune gives too much to many, enough to none.
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Every epigram should resemble a bee; it should have sting, honey, and brevity.
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Such are thou and I: but what I am thou canst not be; what thou art any one of the multitude may be.
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However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.
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She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
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If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.
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Spare the person but lash the vice.
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Fortune gives many too much, but none enough.
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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.
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Be merry if you are wise.
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Of no day can the retrospect cause pain to a good man.
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The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
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It is to live twice when we can enjoy the recollections of our former life.
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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
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There is no glory in outstripping donkeys.
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Man loves malice, but not against one-eyed men nor the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and proud.
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