Come boy, and pour for me a cup Of old Falernian. Fill it up With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear; Our host decrees no water here. Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew, The sluggish thin their blood with dew. For such pale stuff we have no use; For us the purple grape's rich juice. Begone, ye chilling water sprite; Here burning Bacchus rules tonight! Catullus, Selections From Catullus No poems can live long or please that are written by water-drinkers.

That man scorches with his brightness, who overpowers inferior capacities, yet he shall be revered when dead.

When your throat is parched with thirst, do you desire a cup of gold?

Nor has he spent his life badly who has passed it in privacy.

By heaven you have destroyed me, my friends!

He is praised by some, blamed by others.

The lofty pine is most easily brought low by the force of the wind, and the higher the tower the greater the fall thereof.