Decimus Junius Juvenalis (Juvenal) c.55-c.130, Roman Satirical Poet

How incessant and great are the ills with which a prolonged old age is replete.

The short bloom of our brief and narrow life flies far away. While we are calling for flowers and wine and woman, old age is upon us.

Even savage animals can agree among themselves.

What is the use of your pedigrees?

Few people can distinguish the genuinely good from the reverse.

All things may be bought in Rome with money.

Many commit the same crime with a different destiny; one bears a cross as the price of his villainy, another wears a crown.

We are too quick to imitate depraved examples.

It is a wretched thing to live on the fame of others.

They whose sole bliss is eating can give but that one brutish reason why they live.

The examples of vice at home corrupt us more quickly and easily than others, since they steal into our minds under the highest authority.
So rare is the union of beauty with modesty.

A third heir seldom enjoys what has been dishonestly acquired.

Integrity is praised and then left out in the cold.

All wish to possess knowledge, but few, comparatively speaking, are willing to pay the price.

A lucky man is rarer than a white crow.

No one every suddenly became depraved.

Now we suffer the evils of a long peace; luxury more cruel than war broods over us and avenges a conquered world.

Nature never says one thing and wisdom another.

A hairy body, and arms stiff with bristles, give promise of a manly soul.

The love of money grows as the money itself grows.

Those who desire to become rich, desire it at once.

From where can your authority and license as a parent come from, when you who are old, do worse things?

The people long eagerly for just two things. Bread and circuses.

A man who has nothing can whistle in a robber's face.

Here we all live in a state of ambitious poverty.

Your prayer must be for a sound mind in a sound body.

Many individuals have, like uncut diamonds, shining qualities beneath a rough exterior.

Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.

Revenge is always the weak pleasure of a little and narrow mind.

It is difficult not to write satire.

Every great house is full of haughty servants.

Two things only the people anxiously desire, bread and the circus games.

It is sheer madness to live in want in order to be wealthy when you die.

The smell of profit is clean and sweet, whatever the source.

Wisdom overcomes fortune.

Writing is the incurable itch that possesses many.

Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another.

Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another.

No one ever became extremely wicked suddenly.