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He truly sorrows who sorrows unseen.

Martial

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Martial
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Short is the life of those who possess great accomplishments, and seldom do they reach a good old age. Whatever thou lovest, pray that thou mayest not set too high a value on it.
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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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Nothing is more ill-timed than an ill-timed laugh.
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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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Who gives to friends so much from Fate secures, That is the only wealth for ever yours. [Lat., Extra fortunam est, quidquid donatur amicis Quas dederis, selas semper habebis opes.]
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He who thinks that the lives of Priam and of Nestor were long is much deceived and mistaken. Life consists not in living, but in enjoying health.
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Virtue extends our days: he lives two lives who relives his past with pleasure.
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What quick wit is found in sudden straits!
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A good man enlarges the term of his own existence.
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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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A cook should double one sense have: for he Should taster for himself and master be.
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It is easy in adversity to despise death he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.
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It is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent.
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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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Service cannot be expected from a friend in service let him be a freeman who wishes to be my master.
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You admire, Vacerra, only the poets of old and praise only those who are dead. Pardon me, I beseech you, Vacerra, if I think death too high a price to pay for your praise.
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I have granted you much that you asked: and yet you never cease to ask of me. He who refuses nothing, Atticilla, will soon have nothing to refuse.
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I have not hated the man, but his faults.
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Some good, some so-so, and lots plain bad: that's how a book of poems is made, my Friend.
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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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