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If you are poor now, Aemilianus, you will always be poor. Riches are now given to none but the rich.

Martial

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Martial
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Remember, cobbler, to keep to your leather. [Lat., Memento, in pellicula, cerdo, tenere tuo.]
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Some are good, some are middling, the most are bad.
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It is to live twice when we can enjoy the recollections of our former life.
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Red-haired, black-lipped, club-footed, and blink-eyed if you're a good man, you're a wonder!
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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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You're obstinate, pliant, merry, morose, all at once. For me there's no living with you, or without you.
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There is nothing more revolting than an old busybody.
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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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Hidden evils are most dreaded.
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Gifts are like hooks.
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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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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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Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
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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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However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.
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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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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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They let out on hire their passions and eloquence. [Referring to lawyers.]
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Be not too thick with anybody your joys will be fewer, and so will pains.
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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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