Fortune gives many too much, but none enough.

Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings.

You give me nothing during your life, but you promise to provide for me at your death. If you are not a fool, you know what I wish for!

You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.

Every epigram should resemble a bee; it should have sting, honey, and brevity.

Gifts are like fish-hooks; for who is not aware that the greedy char is deceived by the fly which he swallows?

That which prevents disagreeable flies from feeding on your repast, was once the proud tail of a splendid bird.