Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of flowers should be.
No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
I took my lyre and said: come now, my heavenly tortoise shell: become a speaking instrument.
Raise high the roof-beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.
Experience shows us Wealth unchaperoned by Virtue is never an innocuous neighbor.