Quote

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.]

Catullus

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Catullus
Poet
Writer
Gaius Valerius Catullus
Fond
Love
Lover
Lovers
Air
Says
Aqua
Written
Quod
Water
Swift
Woman

More quotes by Catullus

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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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It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.
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It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
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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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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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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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Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
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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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For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
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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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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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Nothing is more silly than silly laughter.
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Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
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What a woman says to an eager lover, write it on running water, write it on air.
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My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow which was my lady's delight
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I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.
Catullus