“Many commit the same crime with a very different result. One bears a cross for his crime; another a crown.”

“Never does Nature say one thing and Wisdom another.”

“Would you not like to fill up a whole note-book at the street crossings when you see a forger borne along upon the necks of six porters, and exposed to view on this side and on that in his almost naked litter, and reminding you of the lounging Maecenas: one who by help of a scrap of paper and a moistened seal has converted himself into a fine and wealthy gentleman?”

“What? Am I to be a listener only all my days? Am I never to get my word in—I that have been so often bored by the Theseid of the ranting Cordus? Shall this one have spouted to me his comedies, and that one his love ditties, and I be unavenged? Shall I have no revenge on one who has taken up the whole day with an interminable Telephus or with an Orestes which, after filling the margin at the top of the roll and the back as well, hasn't even yet come to an end? No one knows his own house so well as I know the groves of Mars, and the cave of Vulcan near the cliffs of Aeolus. What the winds are brewing; whose souls Aeacus has on the rack; from what country another worthy is carrying off that stolen golden fleece; how big are the ash trees which Monychus hurls as missiles: these are the themes with which Fronto's plane trees and marble halls are for ever ringing until the pillars quiver and quake under the continual recitations; such is the kind of stuff you may look for from every poet, greatest or least. Well, I too have slipped my hand from under the cane; I too have counselled Sulla to retire from public life and take a deep sleep; it is a foolish clemency when you jostle against poets at every corner, to spare paper that will be wasted anyhow. But if you can give me time, and will listen quietly to reason, I will tell you why I prefer to run in the same course over which Lucilius, the great nursling of Aurunca drove his horses.”

“Writing in the incurable itch that possesses many.”

“It is to be prayed that the mind be sound in a sound body.Ask for a brave soul that lacks the fear of death,which places the length of life last among nature’s blessings,which is able to bear whatever kind of sufferings,does not know anger, lusts for nothing and believesthe hardships and savage labors of Hercules better thanthe satisfactions, feasts, and feather bed of an Eastern king.I will reveal what you are able to give yourself;For certain, the one footpath of a tranquil life lies through virtue.”

“Many suffer from the incurable disease of writing, and it becomes chronic in their sick minds.”