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That tuneful nymph, the babbling Echo.

Ovid

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Ovid
Author
Elegist
Mythographer
Poet
Writer
Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Nymphs
Babbling
Echo
Echoes
Nymph

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Riches, the incentives to evil, are dug out of the earth.
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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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Grief brims itself and flows away in tears.
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Had I not sinned what would there be for you to pardon. My fate has given you the opportunity for mercy.
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Medicine sometimes snatches away health, sometimes gives it.
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Thanks are justly due for things got without purchase. [Lat., Gratia pro rebus merito debetur inemtis.]
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If you have a voice, sing but if you have good arms, then go in for dancing.
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What is allowed us is disagreeable, what is denied us causes us intense desire.
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Those dreams are true which we have in the morning, as the lamp begins to flicker. [Lat., Namque sub Aurora jam dormitante lucerna Sommia quo cerni tempore vera solent.]
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As God is propitiated by the blood of a hundred bulls, so also is he by the smallest offering of incense. [Lat., Sed tamen ut fuso taurorum sanguine centum, Sic capitur minimo thuris honore deux.]
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All things change, nothing is extinguished. There is nothing in the whole world which is permanent. Everything flows onward all things are brought into being with a changing nature the ages themselves glide by in constant movement.
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What is now reason was formerly impulse or instinct.
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Tempus fugit (time flies).
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A gift in time of need is most acceptable.
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Alcohol is necessary for a man so that he can have a good opinion of himself, undisturbed be the facts. Finley Peter Dunne There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled.
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A soldier when aged is not appreciated the love of an old man sickens.
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To give requires good sense.
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Money nowadays is money money brings office money gains friends everywhere the poor man is down. [Lat., In pretio pretium nunc est dat census honores, Census amicitias pauper ubique jacet.]
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Thou fool, what is sleep but the image of death? Fate will give an eternal rest. [Lat., Stulte, quid est somnus, gelidae nisi mortis imago? Longa quiescendi tempora fata dabunt.]
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The dove, O hawk, that has once been wounded by thy talons, is frightened by the least movement of a wing. [Lat., Terretur minimo pennae stridore columba Unguibus, accipiter, saucia facta tuis.]
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