Horace
Horace
Quintus Horatius Flaccus, known in the English-speaking world as Horace, was the leading Roman lyric poet during the time of Augustus. The rhetorician Quintilian regarded his Odes as just about the only Latin lyrics worth reading: "He can be lofty sometimes, yet he is also full of charm and grace, versatile in his figures, and felicitously daring in his choice of words."...
NationalityRoman
ProfessionPoet
life past men
That man lives happy and in command of himself, who from day to day can say I have lived. Whether clouds obscure, or the sun illumines the following day, that which is past is beyond recall.
knowledge use impart
If you know anything better than this candidly impart it; if not, use this with me.
kings feet giving
If it is well with your belly, chest and feet - the wealth of kings can't give you more.
wealth midst
A pauper in the midst of wealth.
water stones durability
The foolish are like ripples on water, For whatsoever they do is quickly effaced; But the righteous are like carvings upon stone, For their smallest act is durable.
gratitude cheer blessed
Joyful let the soul be in the present, let it disdain to trouble about what is beyond and temper bitterness with a laugh. Nothing is blessed forever.
gossip ears inquisitive
Avoid inquisitive persons, for they are sure to be gossips, their ears are open to hear, but they will not keep what is entrusted to them.
congratulations men neighbor
The envious man grows lean at the success of his neighbor.
wine mean light
Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul, gives being to our hopes, bids the coward flight, drives dull care away, and teaches new means for the accomplishment of our wishes.
country sweet patriotic
It is a sweet and seemly thing to die for one's country.
war fall judgement
Force without judgement falls on its own weight.
stars ambition strikes
I shall strike the stars with my unlifted head.
strong wine boys
Come boy, and pour for me a cup Of old Falernian. Fill it up With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear; Our host decrees no water here. Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew, The sluggish thin their blood with dew. For such pale stuff we have no use; For us the purple grape's rich juice. Begone, ye chilling water sprite; Here burning Bacchus rules tonight! Catullus, Selections From Catullus No poems can live long or please that are written by water-drinkers.
book men poet
Poets are never allowed to be mediocre by the gods, by men or by publishers.