Roman Poet, Man of Letters
Ovid, formally Publius Ovidius Naso
Roman Poet, Man of Letters
The love of country is more powerful than reason itself.
Please note that if you give something your lover before you have owned, it is very easy you run out of gift without loving.
Riches, the incentives to evil, are dug out of the earth.
Sleep, thou repose of all things; sleep, thou gentlest of the deities; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies; who doest soothe the hearts of men wearied with the toils of the day, and refittest them for labor.
Take this at least, this last advice, my son: Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on: The coursers of themselves will run too fast, your art must be to moderate their haste.
That's what is permitted, it is not a pleasure. Which is forbidden, there is a burning desire.
The glow of inspiration warms us; it is a holy rapture.
The love of fame gives an immense stimulus.
Pleasure is sweetest when 'tis paid for by another's pain.
Right it is to be taught even by the enemy.
Sleep, thou repose of all things; thou gentlest of the duties; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies; who dost soothe the hearts of men wearied with the toils of the day, and refittest them for labor.
Tears are sometimes as weighty as words
The bold adventurer succeeds the best.
The glow of inspiration warms us; this holy rapture springs from the seeds of the Divine mind sown in man.
The man who has experienced shipwreck shudders even at a calm sea.
Plenty has made me poor.
Run slowly, horses of the night.
Slight is the merit of keeping silence on a matter, on the other hand serious is the guilt of talking on things whereon we should be silent.
Tears at times have the weight of speech.
The brave find a home in every land.
The god of Delos, proud in victory, saw Cupid draw his bow's taut arc, and said: 'Mischievous boy, what are a brave man's arms to you? That gear becomes my shoulders best. My aim is sure; I wound my enemies, I wound wild beasts; my countless arrows slew but now the bloated Python, whose vast coils across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves! You have your torch to light them! Let that content you; never claim my fame! 'And Venus' son replied: 'Your bow, Apollo, May vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, so likewise shall your glory yield to mine.
Poetry comes fine spun from a mind at peace.
Said of Ennius: Greatest in genius, rough in skill.
So art lies hid by its own artifice.
Tears, too, are a mighty useful resource in the matter of love. They would melt a diamond. Make a point, therefore, of letting your mistress see your face all wet with tears. Howbeit, if you cannot manage to squeeze out any tears--and they won't always flow just when you want them to--put your finger in your eyes. What lover of experience does not know how greatly kisses add cogency to tender speeches? If she refuse to be kissed, kiss her all the same. She may struggle to begin with. "Horrid man!" she'll say; but if she fights, ?twill be a losing battle. Nevertheless, don't be too rough with her and hurt her dainty mouth. Don't give her cause to say that you're a brute. And if, after you've kissed her, you fail to take the rest, you don't deserve even what you've won. What more did you want to come to the fulfilment of your desires? Oh, shame on you! It was not your modesty, it was your stupid clownishness. You would have hurt her in the struggle, you say? But women like being hurt. What they like to give, they love to be robbed of. Every woman taken by force in a hurricane of passion is transported with delight; nothing you could give her pleases her like that. But when she comes forth scathless from a combat in which she might have been taken by assault, however pleased she may try to look, she is sorry in her heart. Ph?be was raped, and so, too, was her sister Elaira; and yet they loved their ravishers not a whit the less.