Quote

Godlike the man who sits at her side, who watches and catches that laughter which (softly) tears me to tatters: nothing is left of me, each time I see her.

Catullus

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Catullus
Poet
Writer
Gaius Valerius Catullus
Nothing
Softly
Men
Sits
Time
Laughter
Tears
Watches
Side
Tatters
Sides
Godlike
Left
Catches

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To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?
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The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted from us the gracious favor of the gods.
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My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow which was my lady's delight
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There is nothing more foolish than a foolish laugh. Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est
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I hate and love. And why, perhaps you’ll ask. I don’t know: but I feel, and I’m tormented.
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We see not our own backs.
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Who now travels that dark path from whose bourne they say no one returns. [Lat., Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illue unde negant redire quemquam.]
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It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
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It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
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I hate and I love. Perchance you ask why I do that. I know not, but I feel that I do and I am tortured. [Lat., Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.]
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Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
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What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. [Lat., Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.]
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Every one has his faults: but we do not see the wallet on our own backs.
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I can imagine no greater misfortune for a cultured people than to see in the hands of the rulers not only the civil, but also the religious power.
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There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.
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My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.
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I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.
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Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
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I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.
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So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
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