You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.

I am a shell-fish just come from being saturated with the waters of the Lucrine lake, near Baiae; but now I luxuriously thrust for noble pickle.

I commend you, Postumus, for kissing me with only half your lip; you may, however, if you please, withhold even the half of this half. Are you inclined to grant me a boon still greater, and even inexpressible? Keep this whole half entirely to yourself, Postumus.

I know all that better than my own name.

Genuine is the sorrow endured without anyone else knowing about it.

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.

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