It is not enough that poetry is agreeable, it should also be interesting.
The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.
While I am sane I shall compare nothing to the joy of a friend.
The same (hated) man will be loved after he's dead. How quickly we forget.
The musician who always plays on the same string is laughed at.
Let those who drink not, but austerely dine, dry up in law; the Muses smell of wine.