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Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be silly at the right moment.
Horace
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Horace
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
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More quotes by Horace
He, that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Imbitt'ring all his state.
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As riches grow, care follows, and a thirst For more and more.
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A good scare is worth more than good advice.
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We hate virtue when it is safe when removed from our sight we diligently seek it. [Lat., Virtutem incolumem odimus, Sublatum ex oculis quaerimus.]
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Blind self-love, vanity, lifting aloft her empty head, and indiscretion, prodigal of secrets more transparent than glass, follow close behind.
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Those who want much, are always much in need happy the man to whom God gives with a sparing hand what is sufficient for his wants.
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Take subject matter equal to your powers, and ponder long, what your shoulders cannot bear, and what they can.
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Sweet and glorious it is to die for our country.
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Who loves the golden mean is safe from the poverty of a tenement, is free from the envy of a palace. [Lat., Auream quisquis mediocritatem deligit tutus caret obsoleti sordibus tecti, caret invidenda sobrius aula.]
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If you are only an underling, don't dress too fine.
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Do you count your birthdays with gratitude?
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He will be loved when dead, who was envied when he was living.
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Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.
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Do not try to find out - we're forbidden to know - what end the gods have in store for me, or for you.
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You have played enough you have eaten and drunk enough. Now it is time for you to depart.
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My liver swells with bile difficult to repress.
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Ah Fortune, what god is more cruel to us than thou! How thou delightest ever to make sport of human life!
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A leech that will not quit the skin until sated with blood.
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The higher the tower, the greater the fall thereof.
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O sweet solace of labors. [Lat., O laborum Dulce lenimen.]
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