Wine and women bring misery.
If you have any shame, forbear to pluck the beard of a dead lion.
Every epigram should resemble a bee; it should have sting, honey, and brevity.
You importune me, Tucca, to present you with my books. I shall not do so; for you want to sell, not to read, them.
Birdes of a feather will flocke togither.
I would not miss your face, your neck, your hands, your limbs, your bosom and certain other of your charms. Indeed, not to become boring by naming them all, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether.