In Rome you long for the country. In the country you praise to the skies the distant town.
There is a measure in everything. There are fixed limits beyond which and short of which right cannot find a resting place.
Not gods, nor men, nor even booksellers have put up with poets' being second-rate.
The work you are treating is one full of dangerous hazard, and you are treading over fires lurking beneath treacherous ashes.
It is no easy matter to say commonplace things in an original way.
Without love and laughter there is no joy; live amid love and laughter.