You'll get no laurel crown for outrunning a burrow.
It is not he who forms idols in gold or marble that makes them gods, but he who kneels before them.
When your crowd of attendants so loudly applaud you, Pomponius, it is not you, but your banquet, that is eloquent.
If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
Be cheerful, if you are wise.
All your female friends are either old or ugly; nay, more ugly than old women usually are. These you lead about in your train, and drag with you to feasts, porticos and theaters. Thus, Fabulla, you seem handsome, thus you seem young.