Is virtue raised by culture, or self-sown?
You have played enough; you have eaten and drunk enough. Now it is time for you to depart.
The changing year’s successive plan Proclaims mortality to man.
Whatever you teach, be brief; what is quickly said, the mind readily receives and faithfully retains, everything superfluous runs over as from a full vessel.
Joys do not fall to the rich alone; nor has he lived ill of whose birth and death no one took note.
And take back ill-polished stanzas to the anvil.
The short span of life forbids us to take on far-reaching hopes.
Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
The ear of the bridled horse is in the mouth.
Drive Nature from your door with a pitchfork, and she will return again and again.
Care clings to wealth: the thirst for more Grows as our fortunes grow.
The impartial earth opens alike for the child of the pauper and the king.
What with your friend you nobly share, At least you rescue from your heir.
Ah Fortune, what god is more cruel to us than thou! How thou delightest ever to make sport of human life!
Let your character be kept up the very end, just as it began, and so be consistent.
Desiring things widely different for their various tastes.
The years as they pass plunder us of one thing after another.
Brighter than Parian marble.
God has joined the innocent with the guilty.
Frugality is one thing, avarice another.