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Better one thorn pluck'd out than all remain.

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Thorn
Pluck
Remain
Evil
Better

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Once sent out, a word takes wings beyond recall.
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Anger is a momentary madness, so control your passion or it will control you.
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Those that are little, little things suit.
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The question is yet before the court.
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He is praised by some, blamed by others.
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Even play has ended in fierce strife and anger.
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There is likewise a reward for faithful silence. [Lat., Est et fideli tuta silentio merces.]
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You may drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet she'll be constantly running back.
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What wonders does not wine! It discloses secrets ratifies and confirms our hopes thrusts the coward forth to battle eases the anxious mind of its burden instructs in arts. Whom has not a cheerful glass made eloquent! Whom not quite free and easy from pinching poverty!
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One night awaits all, and death's path must be trodden once and for all.
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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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An envious man grows lean at another's fatness.
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Decus et pretium recte petit experiens vir. The man who makes the attempt justly aims at honour and reward.
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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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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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With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.
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And I endeavour to subdue circumstances to myself, and not myself to circumstances. [Lat., Et mihi res, non me rebus, subjungere conor.]
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Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings. [Lat., Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Regumque turres.]
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He that cuts off twenty years of life Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
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The poet must put on the passion he wants to represent.
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