It was intended to be a vase, it has turned out a pot.
Nothing is swifter than rumor.
Not gods, nor men, nor even booksellers have put up with poets' being second-rate.
With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.
The foolish are like ripples on water, For whatsoever they do is quickly effaced; But the righteous are like carvings upon stone, For their smallest act is durable.
Drive Nature out with a pitchfork, yet she hurries back, And will burst through your foolish contempt, triumphant.