Quote

Be this our wall of brass, to be conscious of having done no evil, and to grow pale at no accusation.

Horace

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Grows
Evil
Done
Accusation
Brass
Pale
Conscious
Wall
Grow

More quotes by Horace

Image
With self-discipline most anything is possible. Theodore Roosevelt Rule your mind or it will rule you.
Horace
Image
Teaching brings out innate powers, and proper training braces the intellect.
Horace
Image
Deep in the cavern of the infant's breast the father's nature lurks, and lives anew.
Horace
Image
Nothing is swifter than rumor.
Horace
Image
A well-prepared mind hopes in adversity and fears in prosperity. [Lat., Sperat infestis, metuit secundis Alteram sortem, bene preparatum Pectus.]
Horace
Image
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.
Horace
Image
Ah Fortune, what god is more cruel to us than thou! How thou delightest ever to make sport of human life!
Horace
Image
To pile Pelion upon Olympus. [Lat., Pelion imposuisse Olympo.]
Horace
Image
Enjoy in happiness the pleasures which each hour brings with it.
Horace
Image
Joys do not fall to the rich alone nor has he lived ill of whose birth and death no one took note.
Horace
Image
The jackdaw, stript of her stolen colours, provokes our laughter.
Horace
Image
Alas, Postumus, the fleeting years slip by, nor will piety give any stay to wrinkles and pressing old age and untamable death.
Horace
Image
In neglected fields the fern grows, which must be cleared out by fire.
Horace
Image
Of what use are laws, inoperative through public immortality? [Lat., Quid leges sine moribus Vanae proficiunt?]
Horace
Image
Whom does undeserved honour please, and undeserved blame alarm, but the base and the liar?
Horace
Image
No verse can give pleasure for long, nor last, that is written by drinkers of water.
Horace
Image
In the capacious urn of death, every name is shaken. [Lat., Omne capax movet urna nomen.]
Horace
Image
The populace may hiss me, but when I go home and think of my money, I applaud myself.
Horace
Image
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.
Horace
Image
The body loaded by the excess of yesterday, depresses the mind also, and fixes to the ground this particle of divine breath. [Lat., Quin corpus onustum Hesternis vitiis, animum quoque praegravat una Atque affigit humo divinae particulam aurae.]
Horace