Catullus Quotes
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Now Spring restores the balmy heat, now Zephyr's sweet breezes calm the rage of the equinoctial sky.
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Give up wanting to deserve any thanks from anyone, or thinking anybody can be grateful.
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It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
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Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.
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Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
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So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
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Nothing is more silly than silly laughter.
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Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
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Godlike the man who sits at her side, who watches and catches that laughter which (softly) tears me to tatters: nothing is left of me, each time I see her.
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I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.
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What a woman says to an eager lover, write it on running water, write it on air.
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Stop wishing to merit anyone's gratitude or thinking that anyone can become grateful.
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I write of youth, of love, and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
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The confounding of all right and wrong, in wild fury, has averted from us the gracious favor of the gods.
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What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. Lat., Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.
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There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.
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I can imagine no greater misfortune for a cultured people than to see in the hands of the rulers not only the civil, but also the religious power.
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My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow which was my lady's delight
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We see not our own backs.
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But you shall not escape my iambics.
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Who now travels that dark path from whose bourne they say no one returns.
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What women say to lovers, you'll agree, One writes on running water or on air.
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Ah, what is more blessed than to put cares away, when the mind lays by its burden, and tired with labor of far travel we have come to our own home and rest on the couch we longed for? This it is which alone is worth all these toils.
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I hate and love. And why, perhaps you’ll ask. I don’t know: but I feel, and I’m tormented.