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Life is not merely to be alive, but to be well.

Martial

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Martial
Life
Ayurveda
Merely
Health
Alive
Body
Wells
Well

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I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why I can only say this, I do not love thee.
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You give me nothing during your life, but you promise to provide for me at your death. If you are not a fool, you know what I wish for!
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The present joys of life we doubly taste, By looking back with pleasure to the past.
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The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved in amber, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar.
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That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird.
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Every epigram should resemble a bee it should have sting, honey, and brevity.
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A good man enlarges the term of his own existence.
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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
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Work divided is in that manner shortened.
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Gifts are like hooks.
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This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death? [Lat., Hic rogo non furor est ne moriare mori?]
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Life's not just about being alive, but being well.
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I do not like the man who squanders life for fame give me the man who living makes a name. [Lat., Nolo virum facili redimit qui sanquine famam Hunc volo laudari qui sine morte potest.]
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Rarity gives a charm so early fruits and winter roses are the most prized and coyness sets off an extravagant mistress, while the door always open tempts no suitor.
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I believe that man to be wretched whom none can please.
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You're obstinate, pliant, merry, morose, all at once. For me there's no living with you, or without you.
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Hidden evils are most dreaded.
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I commend you, Postumus, for kissing me with only half your lip you may, however, if you please, withhold even the half of this half. Are you inclined to grant me a boon still greater, and even inexpressible? Keep this whole half entirely to yourself, Postumus.
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Man loves malice, but not against one-eyed men nor the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and proud.
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While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phaeton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death.
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