To be able to enjoy one's past life is to live twice.
Wine and women bring misery.
You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.
No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.
Some things are good, some middling, more bad.
I seem to you cruel and too much addicted to gluttony, when I beat my cook for sending up a bad dinner. If that appears to you too trifling a cause, say for what cause you would have a cook flogged.