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Beauty is a fragile gift.

Ovid

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Ovid
Author
Elegist
Mythographer
Poet
Writer
Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Fragile
Gift
Beauty

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In your judgment virtue requires no reward, and is to be sought for itself, unaccompanied by external benefits. [Lat., Judice te mercede caret, per seque petenda est Externis virtus incomitata bonis.]
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O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
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Let the man who does not wish to be idle, fall in love.
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I see and praise what is better, but follow what is worse.
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They come to see, they come that they themselves may be seen. [Lat., Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipse.]
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Everyone is desirous of his own pursuits, and loves To spend his time in his accustomed art.
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The lamp burns bright when wick and oil are clean.
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The gods have their own rules.
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The end doesn't justify the means.
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My intention is to tell of bodies changed into new forms.
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By arts, sails, and oars, ships are rapidly moved arts move the light chariot, and establish love. [Lat., Arte citae veloque rates remoque moventur Arte levis currus, arte regendus Amor.]
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Skilled in every trick, a worthy heir of his paternal craft, he would make black look like white, and white look black. [Lat., Furtum ingeniosus ad omne, Qui facere assueret, patriae non degener artis, Candida de nigris, et de candentibus atra.]
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Art lies by its own artifice.
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The need has gone the memorial thereof remains.
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What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps with it alone, she lives.
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God himself favors the brave.
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A burthen cheerfully borne becomes light
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The raven once in snowy plumes was drest, White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast, Fair as the guardian of the Capitol, Soft as the swan a large and lovely fowl His tongue, his prating tongue had changed him quite To sooty blackness from the purest white.
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Add little to little and there will be a big pile.
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In an easy matter. Anybody can be eloquent.
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