She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.

When your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.

If my opinion is of any worth, the fieldfare is the greatest delicacy among birds, the hare among quadrupeds.

Gifts are like hooks.

I seem to you cruel and too much addicted to gluttony, when I beat my cook for sending up a bad dinner. If that appears to you too trifling a cause, say for what cause you would have a cook flogged.

You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

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.