You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.
Martial (c.40 - c.102)
Contributed by: Zaady
Life is not living, but living in health.
A man who lives everywhere lives nowhere.
You're obstinate, pliant, merry, morose, all at once. For me there's no living with you, or without you.
My poems are naughty, but my life is pure.
To be able to look back on one's past life with satisfaction is to live twice.
There is no glory in outstripping donkeys.
Some good, some so-so, and lots plain bad: that's how a book of poems is made, my Friend.
Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst
The country in town.
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