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Revenge, we find, the abject pleasure of an abject mind.

Juvenal

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Juvenal
Poet
Writer
Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis
Decimus Junius Juvenalis
Pleasure
Find
Mind
Abject
Revenge

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Revenge is sweeter than life itself. So think fools.
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Tears ready to do duty at a minute's notice.
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Every great house is full of haughty servants.
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The love of popularity holds you in a vice.
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Integrity is praised, and starves.
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Trust me no tortures which the poets feign Can match the fierce unutterable pain He feels, who night and day devoid of rest Carries his own accuser in his breast.
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From where can your authority and license as a parent come from, when you who are old, do worse things?
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Now we suffer the evils of a long peace luxury more cruel than war broods over us and avenges a conquered world.
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The short bloom of our brief and narrow life flies fast away. While we are calling for flowers and wine and women, old age is upon us.
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Of what use are pedigrees, or to be thought of noble blood, or the display of family portraits, O Ponticus?
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One has no protecting power save prudence. [Lat., Nullum numen habes si sit prudentia.]
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We are all easily taught to imitate what is base and depraved. [Lat., Dociles imitandis Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus.]
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No one becomes depraved all at once.
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Dare to do something worthy of transportation and a prison, if you mean to be anybody.
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This precept descended from Heaven: know thyself.
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Those things please more, which are more expensive.
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He will be the last to discover the disgrace of his house.
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In their palate alone is their reason of existence. [Lat., In solo vivendi causa palata est.]
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But who guards the guardians?
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The brief span of our poor unhappy life to its final hour Is hastening on and while we drink and call for gay wreaths, Perfumes, and young girls, old age creeps upon us, unperceived.
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