“From the midst of the very fountain of pleasure, something of bitterness arises to vex us in the flower of enjoyment.”

Rest, brother, rest. Have you done ill or well Rest, rest, There is no God, no gods who dwell Crowned with avenging righteousness on high Nor frowning ministers of their hate in hell.

There is nothing that exists so great or marvelous that over time mankind does not admire it less and less.

The greatest wealth is to live content with little, for there is never want where the mind is satisfied.

Falling drops will at last wear away stone.

Whenever anything changes and quits its proper limits, this change is at once the death of that which was before.

From the heart of this fountain of delights wells up some bitter taste to choke them even amid the flowers.

Mother of Aeneas, pleasure of men and gods.

Our life must once have end; in vain we fly From following Fate; e’en now, e’en now, we die.

Deprived of pain, and also deprived of danger, able to do what it wants, [Nature] does not need us, nor understands our deserts, and it cannot be angry.

Do we not see all humans unaware Of what they want, and always searching everywhere, And changing place, as if to drop the load they bear?

Those things that are in the light we behold from darkness.

The body searches for that which has injured the mind with love.

Pleasant it to behold great encounters of warfare arrayed over the plains, with no part of yours in peril.

Therefore there is not anything which returns to nothing, but all things return dissolved into their elements.

O goddess, bestow on my words an immortal charm.

We, peopling the void air, make gods to whom we impute the ills we ought to bear.

The externals are simply so many props; everything we need is within us.

And now in the serenity and quiet of this lovely place, touch the depths of truth, feel the hem of Heaven.

Some species increase, others diminish, and in a short space the generations of living creatures are changed and, like runners, pass on the torch of life.

Our desire must be like a slow and stately ship, sailing across endless oceans, never in search of safe anchorage. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, it will find mooring for a moment.

Fasting confirms our utter dependence upon God by finding in Him a source of sustenance beyond food.

Things which you do not hope happen more frequently than things which you do hope.

You can never know enough, never work enough, never use the infinitives and participles oddly enough, never impede the movement harshly enough, never leave the mind quickly enough.

Wine is a cunning wrestler.