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There are a thousand forms of evil there will be a thousand remedies.

Ovid

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Ovid
Author
Elegist
Mythographer
Poet
Writer
Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Remedies
Remedy
Forms
Thousand
Evil
Form

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What is now an act of reason, was but blind impulse.
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The result proves the wisdom of the act.
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We must improve our time time goes with rapid foot.
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It is convenient that there be gods, and, as it is convenient, let us believe there are.
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Rare is the virtue that's not ruled by Fortune, That stands unshaken even when Fortune flees.
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By constant dripping, water hollows stone, A signet-ring from use alone grows thin, And the curved plowshare by soft earth is worn.
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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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An evil life is a kind of death.
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Giving calls for genius.
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I could not possibly count the gold-digging ruses of women, Not if I had ten mouths, not if I had ten tongues.
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With wavering steps does fickle fortune stray, Nowhere she finds a firm and fixed abode But now all smiles, and now again all frowns, She's constant only in inconstancy.
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A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lily? Centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast.
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Leave war to others 'tis Protesilaus' part of love.
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He who has it in his power to commit sin, is less inclined to do so. The very idea of being able, weakens the desire.
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Jupiter has no leisure to attend to little things.
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Meet the disorder in the outset, the medicine may be too late, when the disease has gained ground through delay.
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Ere land and sea and the all-covering sky Were made, in the whole world the countenance Of nature was the same, all one, well named Chaos, a raw and undivided mass, Naught but a lifeless bulk, with warring seeds Of ill-joined elements compressed together.
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The love of country is more powerful than reason itself.
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Love is a credulous thing.
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In war the olive branch of peace is of use. [Lat., Adjuvat in bello pacatae ramus olivae.]
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