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You traverse the world in search of happiness which is within the reach of every man. A contented mind confers it on all.

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Every
Traverse
Mind
Contented
Men
Search
World
Laughter
Reach
Joy
Within
Happiness
Confers

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Jokes aside, let us turn to serious matters.
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Let this be your wall of brass, to have nothing on your conscience, no guilt to make you turn pale.
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Busy idleness urges us on.
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Teaching brings out innate powers, and proper training braces the intellect.
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It is sweet and right to die for the homeland, but it is sweeter to live for the homeland, and the sweetest to drink for it. Therefore, let us drink to the health of the homeland.
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Be this our wall of brass, to be conscious of having done no evil, and to grow pale at no accusation.
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Years, following years, steal something every day At last they steal us from ourselves away.
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If you rank me with the lyric poets, my exalted head shall strike the stars. [Lat., Quod si me lyricis vatibus inseris, Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.]
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Whom does undeserved honour please, and undeserved blame alarm, but the base and the liar?
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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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You will have written exceptionally well if, by skilful arrangement of your words, you have made an ordinary one seem original.
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She - philosophy is equally helpful to the rich and poor: neglect her, and she equally harms the young and old.
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Not to hope for things to last forever, is what the year teaches and even the hour which snatches a nice day away.
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The consummate pleasure (in eating) is not in the costly flavour, but in yourself. Do you seek for sauce for sweating?
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Glory drags all men along, low as well as high, bound captive at the wheels of her glittering car.
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It is your business when the wall next door catches fire.
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You must avoid sloth, that wicked siren.
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Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
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What do sad complaints avail if the offense is not cut down by punishment.
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Drawing is the true test of art.
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