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Can the fish love the fisherman? [Lat., Piscatorem piscis amare potest?]

Martial

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Martial
Fisherman
Fish
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Love

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Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.
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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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Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are bald. Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are carrotty. Why do I not kiss you, Philaenis? you are one-eyed. He who kisses you, Philaenis, sins against nature.
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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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The present joys of life we doubly taste, By looking back with pleasure to the past.
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Such are thou and I: but what I am thou canst not be what thou art any one of the multitude may be.
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A good man enlarges the term of his own existence.
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You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.
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Gifts are like hooks.
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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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Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
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Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.
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Every epigram should resemble a bee it should have sting, honey, and brevity.
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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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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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Make it a point not to be over-fascinating.
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You crystal break, for fear of breaking it: Careless and careful hands like faults commit.
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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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Virtue extends our days: he lives two lives who relives his past with pleasure.
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You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.
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