C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Martial
A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums the songs of the Nile, and Cadiz; who throws his sleek arms into various attitudes; who idles away the whole day among the chairs of the ladies, and is ever whispering into some one’s ear; who reads little billets-doux from this quarter and that, and writes them in return; who avoids ruffling his dress by contact with his neighbors sleeve, who knows with whom everybody is in love; who flutters from feast to feast, who can recount exactly the pedigree of Hirpinus. What do you tell me? is this a beau, Cotilus? Then a beau, Cotilus, is a very trifling thing.
A crafty innkeeper at Ravenna lately cheated me. I asked him for wine and water; he sold me pure wine.
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.
A vagrant is everywhere at home.
All your female friends are either old or ugly; nay, more ugly than old women usually are. These you lead about in your train, and drag with you to feasts, porticos and theaters. Thus, Fabulla, you seem handsome, thus you seem young.
An honest man is always a child.
Be merry if you are wise.
Diaulus, lately a doctor, is now an undertaker; what he does as an undertaker, he used to do also as a doctor.
Do you ask what sort of a maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures nor that which cloys.
Do you ask why I am unwilling to marry a rich wife? It is because I am unwilling to be taken to husband by my wife. The mistress of the house should be subordinate to her husband, for in no other way, Priscus, will the wife and husband be on an equality.
Do you wonder for what reason, Theodorus, notwithstanding your frequent requests and importunities, I have never presented you with my works? I have an excellent reason; it is lest you should present me with yours.
Fannius, as he was fleeing from the enemy, put himself to death. Is not this, I ask, madness—to die for fear of dying?
For life is not to live, but to be well.
Fortune gives too much to many, enough to none.
From no place can you exclude the fates.
Gifts are like fish-hooks; for who is not aware that the greedy char is deceived by the fly which he swallows?
Glory paid to our ashes comes too late.
He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.
He who weighs his burdens, can bear them.
I believe that man to be wretched whom none can please.
I commend you, Postumus, for kissing me with only half your lip; you may, however, if you please, withhold even the half of this half. Are you inclined to grant me a boon still greater, and even inexpressible? Keep this whole half entirely to yourself, Postumus.
I could do without your face, and your neck, and your hands, and your limbs, and your bosom, and other of your charms. Indeed, not to fatigue myself with enumerating each or them, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who, living, makes a name.
I have not a farthing in the house; one thing only remains for me to do, Regulus, and that is to sell the presents which I have received from you; are you inclined to buy them?
If fame is only to come after death, I am in no hurry for it.
If I remember right, Ælia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.
If you wish, Faustinus, a bath of boiling water to be reduced in temperature—a bath, such as scarcely Julianus could enter—ask the rhetorician Sabinæus to bathe himself in it. He would freeze the warm baths of Nero.
If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your fists; give him some of the (hard) biscuit which famous Rhodes has sent you.
In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a wretched life.
In whatever place you meet me, Postumus, you cry out immediately, and your very first words are, “How do you do?” You say this, even if you meet me ten times in one single hour; you, Postumus, have nothing, I suppose, to do.
It is easy in adversity to despise death; he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.
It is not he who forms idols in gold or marble that makes them gods, but he who kneels before them.
It is to live twice when we can enjoy the recollections of our former life.
Lycoris has buried all the female friends she had, Fabianus; would she were the friend of my wife.
Of no day can the retrospect cause pain to a good man.
One genius has made many clever artists.
Philo swears that he has never dined at home, and it is so; he does not dine at all, except when invited out.
Rarity gives a charm: thus early fruits are most esteemed; thus winter roses obtain a higher price; thus coyness sets off an extravagant mistress: a door ever open attracts no young suitor.
Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.
See how the mountain goat hangs from the summit of the cliff; you would expect it to fall; it is merely showing its contempt for the dogs.
Service cannot be expected from a friend in service; let him be a freeman who wishes to be my master.
She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
Short is the life of those who possess great accomplishments, and seldom do they reach a good old age. Whatever thou lovest, pray that thou mayest not set too high a value on it.
Since your legs, Phœbus, resemble the horns of the moon, you might bathe your feet in a cornucopia.
Spare the person, but lash the vice.
Thais has black, Læcania white teeth; what is the reason? Thais has her own, Læcania bought ones.
The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the sisters of Phaëton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar. It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils; we may suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death.
The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus; but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.
The face that cannot smile is never fair.
The swan murmurs sweet strains with a faltering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
There is nothing more contemptible than a bald man who pretends to have hair.
This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death!
Though I often salute you, you never salute me first; I shall therefore, Pontilianus, salute you with an eternal farewell.
To have nothing is not poverty.
To-morrow life is too late: live to-day.
To-morrow thou wilt live, didst thou say, Posthumus? to-day is too late; he is the wise man who lived yesterday.
What quick wit is found in sudden straits!
When you try to conceal your wrinkles, Polla, with paste made from beans, you deceive yourself, not me. Let a defeat, which is possibly but small, appear undisguised. A fault concealed is presumed to be great.
When your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.
Who called thee vicious was a lying elf; thou art not vicious, for thou art vice itself.
Whoever is not too wise, is wise.
Whoever makes great presents expects great presents in return.
Why do I not kiss you, Philænis? you are bald. Why do I not kiss you, Philænis? you are carrotty. Why do I not kiss you, Philænis? you are one-eyed. He who kisses you, Philænis, sins against nature.
You admire, Vacerra, only the poets of old, and praise only those who are dead. Pardon me, I beseech you, Vacerra, if I think death too high a price to pay for your praise.
You are pretty—we know it; and young—it is true; and rich—who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, not young.
You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.
You often ask me, Priscus, what sort of person I should be, if I were to become suddenly rich and powerful. Who can determine what would be his future conduct? Tell me, if you were to become a lion, what sort of a lion would you be?
You see those fish before you, a beautiful example of the sculpture of Phidias; give them water, and they will swim.
You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.
You utter all sorts of falsehoods, Pontilianus; I assent to them. You recite bad verses; I praise them. You sing; I do the same. You drink, Pontilianus; I drink also. You are rude; I pretend not to perceive it. You wish to play at chess; I allow myself to be beaten. There is one thing only which you do without me, and I hold my tongue on the subject. Yet you never make me the slightest present. “When I die,” say you, “I shall remember you handsomely.” I do not look for anything; but die.
You were constantly, Matho, a guest at my villa at Tivoli. Now you buy it—I have deceived you; I have merely sold you what was already your own.
You wonder that Marius’ ear smells unpleasantly. You are the cause of this, Nestor; you whisper into it.