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Sorrowful words become the sorrowful angry words suit the passionate light words a playful expression serious words suit the grave. [Lat., Tristia maestum Vultum verba decent iratum, plena minarum Ludentem, lasciva: severum, seria dictu.]

Horace

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Horace
Philosopher
Poet
Writer
Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Q. Horatius Flaccus
Horatius
Horatius Flaccus
Passionate
Angry
Playful
Expression
Sorrowful
Serious
Suit
Words
Grave
Light
Graves
Become
Suits
Decent

More quotes by Horace

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What does it avail you, if of many thorns only one be removed.
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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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This was my prayer: an adequate portion of land with a garden and a spring of water and a small wood to complete the picture.
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Ye who write, choose a subject suited to your abilities. [Lat., Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam Viribus.]
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Nor does Apollo keep his bow continually drawn. [Lat., Neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo.]
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Pleasure bought with pain does harm.
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The grammarians are arguing.
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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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There is a medium in all things. There are certain limits beyond, or within which, that which is right cannot exist.
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The Sun, the stars and the seasons as they pass, some can gaze upon these with no strain of fear.
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Make a good use of the present.
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The horse would plough, the ox would drive the car. No do the work you know, and tarry where you are.
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He who postpones the hour of living as he ought, is like the rustic who waits for the river to pass along (before he crosses) but it glides on and will glide forever. [Lat., Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis at ille Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum.]
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Who loves the golden mean is safe from the poverty of a tenement, is free from the envy of a palace. [Lat., Auream quisquis mediocritatem deligit tutus caret obsoleti sordibus tecti, caret invidenda sobrius aula.]
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Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul.
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Be ever on your guard what you say of anybody and to whom.
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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.
Horace
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Leuconoe, close the book of fate, For troubles are in store, . . . . Live today, tomorrow is not.
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Fiction intended to please, should resemble truth as much as possible.
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What exile from his country is able to escape from himself?
Horace