SaturdayApr 04, 2026
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
Light is the task where many share the toil.
It is not good to have a rule of many.
By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.
A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.
'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
For never, never, wicked man was wise.
Urge him with truth to frame his fair replies; And sure he will: for Wisdom never lies.
'T is man's to fight, but Heaven's to give success.
For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain
I war not with the dead.
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.
But he whose inborn worth his acts commend, Of gentle soul, to human race a friend.
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.
And twins ev'n from the birth are Misery and Man!
And taste The melancholy joy of evils past: For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.
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.
How God ever brings like to like.
To labour is the lot of man below; And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
Injustice, swift, erect, and unconfin'd, Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind.
'T is true, 't is certain; man though dead retains Part of himself: the immortal mind remains.
Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart detests him as the gates of hell.
Like strength is felt from hope and from despair.
Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me, For sacred ev'n to gods is misery.
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.
And would'st thou evil for his good repay?
Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise, Such men as live in these degenerate days.
One omen is best, to fight in defense of ones country.
Yet taught by time, my heart has learn'd to glow For others' good, and melt at others' woe.
Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will extends his boundless grace.
Always to be best, and distinguished above the rest.
We are quick to flare up, we races of men on the earth.
But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, For gentle ways are best, and keep aloof From sharp contentions.
A green old age, unconscious of decay That proves the hero born in better days.
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe.
Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will, extends his boundless grace.
Wise to resolve, and patient to perform.
As leaves on the trees, such is the life of man.
For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain And twins even from the birth are Misery and Man!
Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another.
All strangers and beggars are from God, And a gift, though small, is precious.
Few sons attain the praise Of their great sires and most their sires disgrace.
A decent boldness ever meets with friends.
As the generation of leaves, so is that of men.
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess sing.
Winged words.
The wine-dark sea.
Rosy-fingered dawn.
And what he greatly thought, he nobly dared.
To him who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.
Toil is the lot of all, and bitter woe The fate of many.
In saffron-colored mantle, from the tides of ocean rose the morning to bring light to gods and men.
The ruins of himself! now worn away With age, yet still majestic in decay.
The life, which others pay, let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe.
Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind.
Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.
No living man can send me to the shades Before my time; no man of woman born, Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
Modesty is of no use to a beggar.
Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing sooner than of war.
It (revenge) is sweeter far than flowing honey.
In youth and beauty wisdom is but rare!
Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might.
Too much rest itself becomes a pain.
The outcome of the war is in our hands; the outcome of words is in the council.
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