Epigrams

"EPIGRAM, n. A short, sharp saying in prose or verse, frequently characterize by acidity or acerbity and sometimes by wisdom."

"What is an Epigram? a dwarfish whole, Its body brevity, and wit its soul."

"Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer."

"The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus; but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours."

"You are pretty,—we know it; and young,—it is true; and rich,—who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young."

""You are too free spoken," is your constant remark to me, Chœrilus. He who speaks against you, Chœrilus, is indeed a free speaker."

"You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter."

"What's this that myrrh doth still smell in thy kiss, And that with thee no other odour is? 'Tis doubt, my Postumus, he that doth smell So sweetly always, smells not very well."

"Since your legs, Phœbus, resemble the horns of the moon, you might bathe your feet in a cornucopia."

"In whatever place you meet me, Postumus, you cry out immediately, and your very first words are, "How do you do?" You say this, even if you meet me ten times in one single hour: you, Postumus, have nothing, I suppose, to do."

"If you wish, Faustinus, a bath of boiling water to be reduced in temperature,—a bath, such as scarcely Julianus could enter,—ask the rhetorician Sabinæus to bathe himself in it. He would freeze the warm baths of Nero."

"I could do without your face, and your neck, and your hands, and your limbs, and your bosom, and other of your charms. Indeed, not to fatigue myself with enumerating each of them, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether."

"Lycoris has buried all the female friends she had, Fabianus: would she were the friend of my wife!"

"You were constantly, Matho, a guest at my villa at Tivoli. Now you buy it—I have deceived you; I have merely sold you what was already your own."

"Do you wonder for what reason, Theodorus, notwithstanding your frequent requests and importunities, I have never presented you with my works? I have an excellent reason; it is lest you should present me with yours."

"You put fine dishes on your table, Olus, but you always put them on covered. This is ridiculous; in the same way I could put fine dishes on my table."

"You ask for lively epigrams, and propose lifeless subjects. What can I do, Cæcilianus? You expect Hyblæn or Hymethian honey to be produced, and yet offer the Attic bee nothing but Corsican thyme?"

"And have you been able, Flaccus, to see the slender Thais? Then, Flaccus, I suspect you can see what is invisible."

"When to secure your bald pate from the weather, You lately wore a cap of black neats' leather; He was a very wag, who to you said, "Why do you wear your slippers on your head?""

"See how the mountain goat hangs from the summit of the cliff; you would expect it to fall; it is merely showing its contempt for the dogs."

"Never think of leaving perfumes or wine to your heir. Administer these yourself, and let him have your money."

"Some learned writers … have compared a Scorpion to an Epigram … because as the sting of the Scorpion lyeth in the tayl, so the force and virtue of an epigram is in the conclusion."

"I treated Art as the supreme reality, and life as a mere mode of fiction. I awoke the imagination of my century so that it created myth and legend around me: I summed up all systems in a phrase, and all of existence in an epigram."

"The diamond's virtues well might grace The epigram, and both excel In brilliancy in smallest space, And power to cut as well."

"Lumine Acon dextre,—capta est Leonilla sinistre, Et potis est forma vincere uterque dees: Blande puer, lumen quod habes concede sorori, Sic tu cæcus Amor, sic erit illa Venus."

"Unlike my subject, I will make my song. It shall be witty, and it shan't be long."

"This picture, plac'd the busts between Gives Satire all its strength; Wisdom and Wit are little seen While Folly glares at length."

"Sir Drake whom well the world's end knew Which thou did'st compass round, And whom both Poles of heaven once saw Which North and South do bound, The stars above would make thee known, If men here silent were; The sun himself cannot forget His fellow traveller."

"Thou art so witty, profligate and thin, At once we think thee Satan, Death and Sin."

"The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail."