Now Spring restores the balmy heat, now Zephyr’s sweet breezes calm the rage of the equinoctial sky.
CATULLUS
So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
More Catullus Quotes
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There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.
CATULLUS -
I can imagine no greater misfortune for a cultured people than to see in the hands of the rulers not only the civil, but also the religious power.
CATULLUS -
Who now travels that dark path from whose bourne they say no one returns. [Lat., Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illue unde negant redire quemquam.]
CATULLUS -
It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
CATULLUS -
What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. [Lat., Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.]
CATULLUS -
I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.
CATULLUS -
Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
CATULLUS -
Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.
CATULLUS -
I hate and I love. Perchance you ask why I do that. I know not, but I feel that I do and I am tortured. [Lat., Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.]
CATULLUS -
So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
CATULLUS -
My mind’s sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn’t like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.
CATULLUS -
I write of youth, of love, and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
CATULLUS -
The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted from us the gracious favor of the gods.
CATULLUS -
But you shall not escape my iambics.
CATULLUS -
Godlike the man who sits at her side, who watches and catches that laughter which (softly) tears me to tatters: nothing is left of me, each time I see her.
CATULLUS