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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.]

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
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Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Permit
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Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own: he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine, the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
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Dispel the cold, bounteously replenishing the hearth with logs.
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No master can make me swear blind obedience.
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Think to yourself that every day is your last the hour to which you do not look forward will come as a welcome surprise.
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Who then is free? The wise man who can govern himself.
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In trying to be concise I become obscure.
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You will live wisely if you are happy in your lot.
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If nothing is delightful without love and jokes, then live in love and jokes.
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Nor does Apollo keep his bow continually drawn. [Lat., Neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo.]
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With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.
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Small things become small folks.
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Even the good Homer is sometimes caught napping.
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A comic matter cannot be expressed in tragic verse. [Lat., Versibus exponi tragicis res comica non vult.]
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Abridge your hopes in proportion to the shortness of the span of human life for while we converse, the hours, as if envious of our pleasure, fly away: enjoy, therefore, the present time, and trust not too much to what to-morrow may produce.
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Limbs of a dismembered poet.
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Life is largely a matter of expectation.
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Enjoy the present day, trust the least possible to the future.
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To drink away sorrow.
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Gloriously false. [Like Rahab.]
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