While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phaeton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death.
MARTIALBe content to be what you are, and prefer nothing to it, and do not fear or wish for your last day.
More Martial Quotes
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You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.
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Genuine is the sorrow endured without anyone else knowing about it.
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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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Spare the person but lash the vice.
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If fame comes after death, I’m in no hurry for it.
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It is not, believe me, the act of a wise man to say, “I will live.” To-morrow’s life is too late; live to-day.
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I am a shell-fish just come from being saturated with the waters of the Lucrine lake, near Baiae; but now I luxuriously thrust for noble pickle.
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I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, “I do not love thee.”
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You may envy every one, but no one envies you.
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In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a wretched life.
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Rarity gives a charm; so early fruits and winter roses are the most prized; and coyness sets off an extravagant mistress, while the door always open tempts no suitor.
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They let out on hire their passions and eloquence. [Referring to lawyers.]
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To-morrow I will live, the fool does say; To-day itself’s too late, the wise lived yesterday.
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Nothing is more ill-timed than an ill-timed laugh.
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Gifts are like hooks.
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Too late is tomorrow’s life; live for today.
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It is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent.
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Of no day can the retrospect cause pain to a good man.
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In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a wreched life.
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You’ll get no laurel crown for outrunning a burrow.
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What’s a wretched man? A man whom no man pleases.
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This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death?
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Glory comes too late when we are nought but ashes.
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I believe that man to be wretched whom none can please.
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It is folly to waste labour about trifles.
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I’m what I seem; not any dyer gave, But nature dyed this colour that I have.
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