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Every one has his faults: but we do not see the wallet on our own backs.

Catullus

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Catullus
Poet
Writer
Gaius Valerius Catullus
Wallet
Wallets
Backs
Faults
Every

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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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Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
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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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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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It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
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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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Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale
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Nothing is more silly than silly laughter.
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We see not our own backs.
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Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love. Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus
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Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
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To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?
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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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Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
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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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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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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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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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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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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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