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The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved in amber, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar.
Martial
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Martial
Enclosed
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More quotes by Martial
However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.
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Life is not living, but living in health.
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For life is only life when blessed with health.
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Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.
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There is nothing more contemptible than a bald man who pretends to have hair.
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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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If you have any shame, forbear to pluck the beard of a dead lion.
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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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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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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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Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.
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Wine and women bring misery.
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You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.
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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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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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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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Life is not merely to be alive, but to be well.
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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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If fame comes after death, I'm in no hurry for it. [Lat., Si post fata venit gloria non propero.]
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There is nothing more revolting than an old busybody.
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