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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

Martial

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Martial
Length
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Shorter
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Swift
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More quotes by Martial

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When your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.
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While you cannot resolve what you are, at last you may be nothing.
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It is to live twice when we can enjoy the recollections of our former life.
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I am a shell-fish just come from being saturated with the waters of the Lucrine lake, near Baiae but now I luxuriously thrust for noble pickle.
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No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.
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Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.
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Wine and women bring misery.
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She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
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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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Remember, cobbler, to keep to your leather. [Lat., Memento, in pellicula, cerdo, tenere tuo.]
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The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar. It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils we may suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death.
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He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.
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Work divided is in that manner shortened.
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You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.
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A good man doubles the length of his existence to have lived so as to look back with pleasure on our past existence is to live twice.
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I have not hated the man, but his faults.
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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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I wont let a wife lead me to the altar. [I will not have a wife that shall be my master.]
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I seem to you cruel and too much addicted to gluttony, when I beat my cook for sending up a bad dinner. If that appears to you too trifling a cause, say for what cause you would have a cook flogged.
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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?]
Martial