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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.

Martial

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Martial
Hundred
Dinners
Gives
Dine
Baths
Wish
Verses
Three
Excellent
Giving
Dinner
Praise
Eating
Bathe

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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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He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
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Non est, crede mihi, sapientis dicere 'Vivam': Sera nimis vita est crastina: vive hodie. Believe me, wise men don't say 'I shall live to do that', tomorrow's life is too late live today. Variant translation: Tomorrow will I live, the fool does say Today itself's too late the wise lived yesterday.
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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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Remember, cobbler, to keep to your leather. [Lat., Memento, in pellicula, cerdo, tenere tuo.]
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Every epigram should resemble a bee it should have sting, honey, and brevity.
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I have not hated the man, but his faults.
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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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Be merry if you are wise.
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If you have any shame, forbear to pluck the beard of a dead lion.
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The African lions rush to attack bulls they do not attack butterflies. [Lat., In tauros Libyci ruunt leones Non sunt papilionibus molesti.]
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Neither fear your death's day nor long for it.
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What quick wit is found in sudden straits!
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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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