He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
When your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.
Tomorrow's life is too late. Live today.
Be not too thick with anybody; your joys will be fewer, and so will pains.
I know all that better than my own name.