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Destroy our leisure and you break love's bow.

Ovid

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Ovid
Author
Elegist
Mythographer
Poet
Writer
Publius Ovidius Naso
P. Ovidius Naso
Bows
Leisure
Destroy
Break
Love

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Be patient and tough someday this pain will be useful to you.
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Death is not grievous to me, for I shall lay aside my pains by death. [Lat., Nec mihi mors gravis est posituro morte dolores.]
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You put aside the work that's done, and seek some work to do.
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Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses.
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What is now reason was formerly impulse or instinct.
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Sleep ... peace of the soul, who puttest care to flight.
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Cunning leads to knavery. It is but a step from one to the other, and that very slippery. Only lying makes the difference add that to cunning, and it is knavery.
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Knowest thou not that kings have long hands? [Lat., An nescis longos regibus esse manus?]
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There is a certain pleasure in weeping grief finds in tears both a satisfaction and a cure.
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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.
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If he did not succeed, he at least failed in a glorious undertaking.
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Take away leisure and Cupid's bow is broken
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Envy, slothful vice, Never makes its way in lofty characters, But, like the skulking viper, creeps and crawls Close to the ground.
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That you may please others you must be forgetful of yourself.
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Yield to him who opposes you by yielding you conquer.
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Let others praise ancient times I am glad I was born in these.
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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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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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To dismiss a guest is a more ungracious act than not to admit him at all.
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Time is the devourer of all things.
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