"[John Conington's] translation of the Satires and Epistles of Horace [are] on the whole, perhaps, the best and most successful translation of a Classic, that exists in the English language."

"None question whence it comes, but come it must."

"A wet summer and a fine winter should be the farmer's prayer."

"None knows the reason why this curse Was sent on him, this love of making verse."

"Arise from my bones, my unknown avenger."

"In all her charms, set Virtue in their eye, And let them see their loss, despair, and—die!"

"You lose no time in taking out a fly, Or straw, it may be, that torments your eye; Why, when a thing devours your mind, adjourn Till this day year all thought of the concern? Come now, have courage to be wise: begin: You're halfway over when you once plunge in: He who puts off the time for mending, stands A clodpoll by the stream with folded hands, Waiting till all the water be gone past; But it runs on, and will, while time shall last."

"Let hopes and sorrows, fears and angers be, And think each day that dawns the last you'll see; For so the hour that greets you unforeseen Will bring with it enjoyment twice as keen."

"The gods implore To crush the proud and elevate the poor."

"Virtue's a mere name, Or 'tis high venture that achieves high aim."

"O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers, Why make such game of this poor life of ours?"

"For easier 'tis to learn and recollect What moves derision than what claims respect."

"What's kept at home you cancel by a stroke: What's sent abroad you never can revoke."

"Gifford's Juvenal [is], probably, take it all in all, the very best version of a classic in the language."

"Fierce boils in every vein Indignant shame and passion blind, The tempest of the lover's mind, The soldier's high disdain."

"Why reel I thus, confused and blind? What madness mars my sober mind?"

"Let Rome be glorious on the earth, The centre of Italian worth."

"Each has his destined time: a span Is all the heritage of man: 'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praise To lengthen fame through after days."

"'Tis thus that men to heaven aspire: Go on and raise your glories higher."

"In vain she strives with dying hands To wrench away the blade: Fixed in her ribs the weapon stands, Closed by the wound it made. Bloodless and faint, she gasps for breath; Her heavy eyes sink down in death; Her cheek's bright colors fade."

"He who maligns an absent friend's fair fame, Who says no word for him when others blame, Who courts a reckless laugh by random hits, Just for the sake of ranking among wits, Who feigns what he ne'er saw, a secret blabs, Beware him, Roman! that man steals or stabs!"

"Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may; With life so short 'twere wrong to lose a day."

"Mere grace is not enough: a play should thrill The hearer's soul, and move it at its will."

"Blest pair! if aught my verse avail, No day shall make your memory fail From off the heart of time."

"O impotence of man's frail mind To fate and to the future blind, Presumptuous and o'erweening still When Fortune follows at its will!"

"Who hopes by strange variety to please, Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas."

"Sleep gives his name to portals twain; One all of horn, they say, Through which authentic spectres gain Quick exit into day, And one which bright with ivory gleams, Whence Pluto sends delusive dreams."

"Ah son! compel me not to speak The sorrows of our race! That youth the Fates but just display To earth, nor let him longer stay: With gifts like these for aye to hold, Rome's heart had e'en been overbold. Ah! what a groan from Mars's plain Shall o'er the city sound! How wilt thou gaze on that long train, Old Tiber, rolling to the main Beside his new-raised mound! No youth of Ilium's seed inspires With hope as fair his Latian sires: Nor Rome shall dandle on her knee A nursling so adored as he. O piety! O ancient faith! O hand untamed in battle scathe! No foe had lived before his sword, Stemmed he on foot the war's red tide Or with relentless rowel gored His foaming charger's side. Dear child of pity! shouldst thou burst The dungeon-bars of Fate accurst, Our own Marcellus thou!"

"Terror wings his flight."

"Each for himself, we all sustain The durance of our ghostly pain; Then to Elysium we repair, The few, and breathe this blissful air."

"Here sees he the illustrious dead Who fighting for their country bled; Priests who while earthly life remained Preserved that life unsoiled, unstained; Blest bards, transparent souls and clear, Whose song was worthy Phoebus' ear; Inventors who by arts refined The common lot of human kind, With all who grateful memory won By services to others done: A goodly brotherhood, bedight With coronals of virgin white."

"But, Roman, thou, do thou control The nations far and wide; Be this thy genius, to impose The rule of peace on vanquished foes, Show pity to the humbled soul, And crush the sons of pride."

"Thou too take courage, wealth despise, And fit thee to ascend the skies, Nor be a poor man's courtesies Rejected or disdained."

"This to a tyrant master sold His native land for cursed gold."

"A lethargy of sleep, Most like to death, so calm, so deep."

"No, had I e'en a hundred tongues, A hundred mouths, and iron lungs, Those types of guilt I could not show, Nor tell the forms of penal woe."

"At Orcus' portals hold their lair Wild Sorrow and avenging Care; And pale Diseases cluster there, And pleasureless Decay Foul Penury, and Fears that kill, And Hunger, counsellor of ill, A ghastly presence they: Suffering and Death the threshold keep, And with them Death's blood-brother, Sleep."

"Along the illimitable shade Darkling and lone their way they made, Through the vast kingdom of the dead, An empty void, though tenanted: So travellers in a forest move With but the uncertain moon above, Beneath her niggard light."

"No longer dream that human prayer The will of Fate can overbear."

"They reach the realms of tranquil bliss. Green spaces folded in with trees, A paradise of pleasances."

"Ah! would but Jupiter restore The strength I had in days of yore!"

"War, dreadful war, and Tiber flood I see incarnadined with blood."

"My chief, let Fate cry on or back, 'Tis ours to follow, nothing slack: Whate'er betide, he only cures The stroke of Fortune who endures."

"The journey down to the abyss Is prosperous and light: The palace gates of gloomy Dis Stand open day and night: But upward to retrace the way And pass into the light of day There comes the stress of labour; this May task a hero's might."

"Hush your tongues from idle speech."

"'To die! and unrevenged!' she said, 'Yet let me die.'"

"They can because they think they can."

"Back, ye unhallowed!"