MondayOct 13, 2025
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
The outcome of the war is in our hands; the outcome of words is in the council.
Too much rest itself becomes a pain.
Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might.
In youth and beauty wisdom is but rare!
It (revenge) is sweeter far than flowing honey.
Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing sooner than of war.
Modesty is of no use to a beggar.
No living man can send me to the shades Before my time; no man of woman born, Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.
Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind.
The life, which others pay, let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe.
The ruins of himself! now worn away With age, yet still majestic in decay.
In saffron-colored mantle, from the tides of ocean rose the morning to bring light to gods and men.
Toil is the lot of all, and bitter woe The fate of many.
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.
To him who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared.
Rosy-fingered dawn.
The wine-dark sea.
Winged words.
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess sing.
As the generation of leaves, so is that of men.
A decent boldness ever meets with friends.
Few sons attain the praise Of their great sires and most their sires disgrace.
All strangers and beggars are from God, And a gift, though small, is precious.
Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another.
Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain And twins even from the birth are Misery and Man!
As leaves on the trees, such is the life of man.
Wise to resolve, and patient to perform.
Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will, extends his boundless grace.
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe.
A green old age, unconscious of decay That proves the hero born in better days.
But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, For gentle ways are best, and keep aloof From sharp contentions.
We are quick to flare up, we races of men on the earth.
Always to be best, and distinguished above the rest.
Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will extends his boundless grace.
Yet taught by time, my heart has learn'd to glow For others' good, and melt at others' woe.
One omen is best, to fight in defense of ones country.
Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, Such men as live in these degenerate days.
And would'st thou evil for his good repay?
I am a part of all that I have met. Yet, experience is an arch wherethro gleams that untravl'd world whose margin fades forever and forever when I move.
Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me, For sacred ev'n to gods is misery.
Like strength is felt from hope and from despair.
Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him as the gates of hell.
'T is true, 't is certain; man though dead retains Part of himself: the immortal mind remains.
Injustice, swift, erect, and unconfin'd, Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind.
To labour is the lot of man below; And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
How God ever brings like to like.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.
And taste The melancholy joy of evils past: For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.
And twins ev'n from the birth are Misery and Man!
For dear to gods and men is sacred song. Self-taught I sing; by Heaven, and Heaven alone, The genuine seeds of poesy are sown.
But he whose inborn worth his acts commend, Of gentle soul, to human race a friend.
Close to the Gates a spacious Garden lies, From the Storms defended and inclement Skies; Four Acres was the allotted Space of Ground, Fenc'd with a green Enclosure all around. Tall thriving Trees confessed the fruitful Mold: The reddening Apple ripens here to Gold, Here the blue Fig with luscious Juice overflows, With deeper Red the full Pomegranate glows, The Branch here bends beneath the weighty Pear, And verdant Olives flourish round the Year.
I war not with the dead.
For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain
'T is man's to fight, but Heaven's to give success.
Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies; And sure he will: for Wisdom never lies.
For never, never, wicked man was wise.
'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.
It is not good to have a rule of many.
Light is the task where many share the toil.
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