Love presses my head with carefully placed feet, wretch that he is, until he has taught me to detest chaste girls, and to live with no counsel.

Tell me who is able to keep his bed chaste, or which goddess is able to live with one god alone?

Great is the height I just scale, but the prospect of glory gives me strength.

No rival will steal away my sure love; that glory will be my gray hair.

Let's give the historians something to write about

Make room, Roman writers, make room for Greek writers; something greater than the Iliad is born.

Never change when love has found its home.