A friend is somebody you want to be around when you feel like being by yourself.
The poets were not alone in sanctioning myths, for long before the poets the states and the lawmakers had sanctioned them as a useful expedient. They needed to control the people by superstitious fears, and these cannot be aroused without myths and marvels.
To be loved, be lovable.
Ars Amatoria Ovid
Nothing in the entire universe ever perishes, believe me, but things vary, and adopt a new form. The phrase "being born" is used for beginning to be something different from what one was before, while "dying" means ceasing to be the same. Though this thing may pass into that, and that into this, yet the sums of things remains unchanged.
Whatever it is, I fear Greeks even when they bring gifts.
Once harm has been done, even a fool understands it.
The Iliad Homer
There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.
I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble.
The foolish man lies awake all night Thinking of his many problems; When the morning comes he is worn out And his trouble is just as it was.
To be able to say how much love, is love but little.
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Love me little, love me long.
Brevity is the soul of wit.
Sing of the nature of women, and then the song shall be surely full of variety; old crotchets and most sweet closes. It shall be humorous, grave, fantastic, amorous, melancholy, sprightly, one in all, and all in one.
No light, but rather darkness visible.
"I have come to you against my wish," she said in a firm voice: "but I have been ordered to grant your request. Three, seven, ace, will win for you if played in succession, but only on these conditions: that you do not play more than one card in twenty-four hours, and that you never play again during the rest of your life. I forgive you my death, on condition that you marry my companion, Lizaveta Ivanovna."
Aleksandr (Alexander Pushkin) Pushkin
Mistakes are the portals of discovery.
I love cats. I love their grace and their elegance. I love their independence and their arrogance, and the way they lie and look at you, summing you up, surely to your detriment, with that unnerving, unwinking, appraising stare.
It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness and of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature, and everlasting beauty of monotony.
Primus in orbe deos fecit timor.
The music is not in the notes,
but in the silence between.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off.
Hughes began (The Hawk in the Rain, 1957; Lupercal, 1960) as an elemental poet of power; he was inchoate, but fruitfully aware both of the brute force of creation and of the natural world. Then…he began to assume a mantic role; he has now turned into (Crow, 1970) a pretentious, coffee-table poet, a mindless celebrant of instinct.