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What a woman says to an eager lover, write it on running water, write it on air.

Catullus

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Catullus
Poet
Writer
Gaius Valerius Catullus
Woman
Write
Running
Eager
Women
Lover
Writing
Lovers
Air
Says
Water

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Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale
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Nothing is more silly than silly laughter.
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Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
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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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Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
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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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My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow which was my lady's delight
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To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?
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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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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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Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love. Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus
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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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We see not our own backs.
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Every one has his faults: but we do not see the wallet on our own backs.
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For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
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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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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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There is nothing more foolish than a foolish laugh. Risu inepto res ineptior nulla est
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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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I hate and love. And why, perhaps you’ll ask. I don’t know: but I feel, and I’m tormented.
Catullus