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Make it a point not to be over-fascinating.

Martial

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Martial
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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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Man loves malice, but not against one-eyed men nor the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and proud.
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However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.
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If you are poor now, Aemilianus, you will always be poor. Riches are now given to none but the rich.
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Givers of great dinners know few enemies.
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The present joys of life we doubly taste, By looking back with pleasure to the past.
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A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.
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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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Be satisfied, and pleased with what thou art, Act cheerfully and well thou allotted part Enjoy the present hour, be thankful for the past, And neither fear, nor wish, the approaches of the last.
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Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
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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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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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He writes nothing whose writings are not read.
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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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Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.
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All your female friends are either old or ugly nay, more ugly than old women usually are. These you lead about in your train, and drag with you to feasts, porticos and theaters. Thus, Fabulla, you seem handsome, thus you seem young.
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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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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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Those they praise, but they read the others.
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