He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?

Your seventh wife, Phileros, is now being buried in your field. No man's field brings him greater profit than yours, Phileros.

Nothing is more ill-timed than an ill-timed laugh.

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.

However great the dish that holds the turbot, the turbot is still greater than the dish.

Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings.

No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.