If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
I have not hated the man, but his faults.
You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
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.
Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.
It is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent.