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The present joys of life we doubly taste, By looking back with pleasure to the past.
Martial
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More quotes by Martial
One genius has made many clever artists.
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Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.
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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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Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.
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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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Service cannot be expected from a friend in service let him be a freeman who wishes to be my master.
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What quick wit is found in sudden straits!
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A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.
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It is easy in adversity to despise death he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.
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Life is not merely to be alive, but to be well.
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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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Be content to be what you are, and prefer nothing to it, and do not fear or wish for your last day.
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The flaw which is hidden is deemed greater than it is.
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To have nothing is not poverty. [Lat., Non est paupertas, Nestor, habere nihil.]
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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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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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Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
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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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This I ask, is it not madness to kill thyself in order to escape death? [Lat., Hic rogo non furor est ne moriare mori?]
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Neither fear your death's day nor long for it.
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