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You may drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet she'll be constantly running back.

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Pitchfork
May
Pitchforks
Back
Romance
Drive
Constantly
Literature
Running
Nature

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Neither men, nor gods, nor booksellers' shelves permit ordinary poets to exist. [Lat., Mediocribus esse poetis Non homines, non di, non concessere columnae.]
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When I caution you against becoming a miser, I do not therefore advise you to become a prodigal or a spendthrift.
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When we try to avoid one fault, we are led to the opposite, unless we be very careful.
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Drive Nature forth by force, she'll turn and rout The false refinements that would keep her out.
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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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Let's put a limit to the scramble for money. ... Having got what you wanted, you ought to begin to bring that struggle to an end.
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There is a middle ground in things.
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The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.
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The body, enervated by the excesses of the preceding day, weighs down and prostates the mind also.
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You will live wisely if you are happy in your lot.
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The question is yet before the court.
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Too indolent to bear the toil of writing I mean of writing well I say nothing about quantity. [Lat., Piger scribendi ferre laborem Scribendi recte, nam ut multum nil moror.]
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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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Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.
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Everything, virtue, glory, honor, things human and divine, all are slaves to riches.
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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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Tis pleasant to have a large heap to take from.
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High descent and meritorious deeds, unless united to wealth, are as useless as seaweed.
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