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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.

Catullus

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Catullus
Poet
Writer
Gaius Valerius Catullus
Like
Loving
Couldn
Already
Claudia
Stop
Wrecked
Women
Sunk
Best
Account
Matter
Accounts
Mind
Lows

More quotes by Catullus

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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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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.
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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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We see not our own backs.
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Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
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Nothing is more silly than silly laughter.
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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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It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
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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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Every one has his faults: but we do not see the wallet on our own backs.
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It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
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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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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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Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
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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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There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.
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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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For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
Catullus