No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.

Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.

The flaw which is hidden is deemed greater than it is.

There is no living with thee, nor without thee.

While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phaeton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death.

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.

If you are poor now, Aemilianus, you will always be poor. Riches are now given to none but the rich.