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Limbs of a dismembered poet.

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Dismembered
Limbs
Latin
Poet

More quotes by Horace

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He will always be a slave who does not know how to live upon a little.
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He that finds out he's changed his lot for worse, Let him betimes the untoward choice reverse: For still, when all is said, the rule stands fast, That each man's shoe be made on his own last.
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A dowried wife, friends, beauty, birth, fair fame, These are the gifts of money, heavenly dame: Be but a moneyed man, persuasion tips Your tongue, and Venus settles on your lips.
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The dispute is still before the judge.
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I would advise him who wishes to imitate well, to look closely into life and manners, and thereby to learn to express them with truth.
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Deep in the cavern of the infant's breast the father's nature lurks, and lives anew.
Horace
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Fiction intended to please, should resemble truth as much as possible.
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Let us both small and great push forward in this work, in this pursuit, if to our country, if to ourselves we would live dear.
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Betray not a secret even though racked by wine or wrath.
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Joy, grief, desire or fear, whate'er the name The passion bears, its influence is the same Where things exceed your hope or fall below, You stare, look blank, grow numb from top to toe.
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As shines the moon amid the lesser fires.
Horace
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Man is never watchful enough against dangers that threaten him every hour. [Lat., Quid quisque vitet nunquam homini satis Cautum est in horas.]
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The drunkard is convicted by his praises of wine.
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What it is forbidden to be put right becomes lighter by acceptance.
Horace
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Though you strut proud of your money, yet fortune has not changed your birth. [Lat., Licet superbus ambules pecuniae, Fortuna non mutat genus.]
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A pauper in the midst of wealth.
Horace
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It was intended to be a vase, it has turned out a pot.
Horace
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Where there are many beauties in a poem I shall not cavil at a few faults proceeding either from negligence or from the imperfection of our nature.
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Envy is not to be conquered but by death.
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Superfluous words simply spill out when the mind is already full.
Horace