Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings.
Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.
Wish to be what you are, and wish for no other position.
You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.
Of no day can the retrospect cause pain to a good man.