For wealth’s now given to none but to the rich.
MARTIALIf you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
More Martial Quotes
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There is no glory in outstripping donkeys.
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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.
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I do not hate the man, but his vices.
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Nothing is more ill-timed than an ill-timed laugh.
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Why do strong arms fatigue themselves with frivolous dumbbells? To dig a vineyard is worthier exercise for men.
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The present joys of life we doubly taste, By looking back with pleasure to the past.
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Life is not living, but living in health.
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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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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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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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Gifts are like hooks.
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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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They let out on hire their passions and eloquence. [Referring to lawyers.]
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A good man doubles the length of his existence; to have lived so as to look back with pleasure on our past existence is to live twice.
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Whoever makes great presents, expects great presents in return.
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If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
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He truly sorrows who sorrows unseen.
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Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.
MARTIAL -
You’re obstinate, pliant, merry, morose, all at once. For me there’s no living with you, or without you.
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Wine and women bring misery.
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See, how the liver is swollen larger than a fat goose! In amazement you will exclaim: Where could this possibly grow?
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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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The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
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To-morrow I will live, the fool does say; To-day itself’s too late, the wise lived yesterday.
MARTIAL