It is not, believe me, the act of a wise man to say, "I will live." To-morrow's life is too late; live to-day.

You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

I would not miss your face, your neck, your hands, your limbs, your bosom and certain other of your charms. Indeed, not to become boring by naming them all, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether.

You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.

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

However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.

In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a writeched life