Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.
If pale beans bubble for you in a red earthenware pot, you can often decline the dinners of sumptuous hosts.
I know all that better than my own name.
You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.
I do not hate the man, but his vices.
The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved in amber, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar.