Despise not sweet inviting love-making nor the merry dance.

Leuconoe, close the book of fate, For troubles are in store, . . . . Live today, tomorrow is not.

In truth it is best to learn wisdom, and abandoning all nonsense, to leave it to boys to enjoy their season of play and mirth.

Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals: we storm heaven itself in our folly.

Blind self-love, vanity, lifting aloft her empty head, and indiscretion, prodigal of secrets more transparent than glass, follow close behind.

I beseech you to treasure up in your hearts these my parting words: Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.

It is not every man that can afford to go to Corinth.