Ah, what is more blessed than to put cares away, when the mind lays by its burden, and tired with labor of far travel we have come to our own home and rest on the couch we longed for? This it is which alone is worth all these toils.

Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!

Away with you, water, destruction of wine!

I hate and I love, and who can tell me why?

So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.

Stop wishing to merit anyone's gratitude or thinking that anyone can become grateful.

Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale