You admire, Vacerra, only the poets of old and praise only those who are dead. Pardon me, I beseech you, Vacerra, if I think death too high a price to pay for your praise.

You'll get no laurel crown for outrunning a burrow.

Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.

I wont let a wife lead me to the altar. [I will not have a wife that shall be my master.]

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.

Joys do not stay, but take wing and fly away.

I know all that better than my own name.