Our days pass by, and are scored against us.
You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.
Genuine is the sorrow endured without anyone else knowing about it.
Some are good, some are middling, the most are bad.
There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
Do you ask what sort of a maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures nor that which cloys.