Glory comes too late when we are nought but ashes.

Man loves malice, but not against one-eyed men nor the unfortunate, but against the fortunate and proud.

Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.

It is not he who forms idols in gold or marble that makes them gods, but he who kneels before them.

If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.

I commend you, Postumus, for kissing me with only half your lip; you may, however, if you please, withhold even the half of this half. Are you inclined to grant me a boon still greater, and even inexpressible? Keep this whole half entirely to yourself, Postumus.

Your seventh wife, Phileros, is now being buried in your field. No man's field brings him greater profit than yours, Phileros.