Quote

Beauty, if you do not open your doors, takes age from lack of use.

Ovid

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Ovid
Author
Elegist
Mythographer
Poet
Writer
Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Use
Lack
Doors
Takes
Open
Beauty
Age

More quotes by Ovid

Image
Tempus fugit (time flies).
Ovid
Image
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.]
Ovid
Image
Pursuits become habits.
Ovid
Image
There is no need of words believe facts. [Lat., Non opus est verbis, credite rebus.]
Ovid
Image
The glow of inspiration warms us this holy rapture springs from the seeds of the Divine mind sown in man.
Ovid
Image
Envy, slothful vice, Never makes its way in lofty characters, But, like the skulking viper, creeps and crawls Close to the ground.
Ovid
Image
Tis on the living Envy feeds. She silent grows When, after death, man's honor is his guard. So I, when on the pyre consumed I lie, Shall live, for all that's noblest will survive.
Ovid
Image
Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it.
Ovid
Image
Like fragile ice anger passes away in time.
Ovid
Image
You will be safest in the middle.
Ovid
Image
Love is a kind of military service
Ovid
Image
Let the poor man mind his tongue
Ovid
Image
Envy assails the noblest: the winds howl around the highest peaks.
Ovid
Image
You will be melancholy, if you are solitary.
Ovid
Image
According to the state of a man's conscience, so do hope and fear on account of his deeds arise in his mind.
Ovid
Image
Friendship is but a name, faith is an empty name. Alas, it is not safe to praise to a friend the object of your love as soon as he believes your praises, he slips into your place.
Ovid
Image
The spirited horse, which will try to win the race of its own accord, will run even faster if encouraged.
Ovid
Image
An injury may prove a blessing.
Ovid
Image
It is some relief to weep grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
Ovid
Image
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.
Ovid