“You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.”

What quick wit is found in sudden straits!

Who gives to friends so much from Fate secures, That is the only wealth for ever yours.

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

To be able to enjoy one’s past life is to live twice.

If my opinion is of any worth, the fieldfare is the greatest delicacy among birds, the hare among quadrupeds.

It is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent.

Givers of great dinners know few enemies.

Joys do not stay, but take wing and fly away.

Spare the person but lash the vice.

I’m what I seem; not any dyer gave, But nature dyed this colour that I have.

Some good, some so-so, and lots plain bad: that’s how a book of poems is made, my Friend.

Can the fish love the fisherman?

Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.

For wealth’s now given to none but to the rich.

Red-haired, black-lipped, club-footed, and blink-eyed; if you’re a good man, you’re a wonder!

Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are bald. Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are carrotty. Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are one-eyed. He who kisses you, Philaenis, sins against nature.