All things change, nothing is extinguished. There is nothing in the whole world which is permanent. Everything flows onward; all things are… — Ovid Copy Share Image
Constant Penelope sends to thee, careless Ulysses. Write not again, but come, sweet mate — Ovid Copy Share Image
By constant dripping, water hollows stone, A signet-ring from use alone grows thin, And the curved plowshare by soft earth is worn. — Ovid Copy Share Image
With wavering steps does fickle fortune stray, Nowhere she finds a firm and fixed abode; But now all smiles, and now again… — Ovid Copy Share Image
Brass shines with constant usage, a beautiful dress needs wearing,Leave a house empty, it rots. — Ovid Copy Share Image
Time itself flows on with constant motion, just like a river: for no more than a river can the fleeting hour stand… — Ovid Copy Share Image
There is nothing constant in the universe. All ebb and flow, and every shape that's born, bears in its womb the seeds… — Ovid Copy Share Image
The iron ring is worn out by constant use. [Lat., Ferreus assiduo consumitur anulus usu.] — Ovid Copy Share Image
Every woman thinks herself attractive; even the plainest is satisfied with the charms she deems that she possesses. — Ovid Copy Share Image
Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength. — Ovid Copy Share Image
A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of rumour. [Lat., Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit.] — Ovid Copy Share Image
It is convenient that there be gods, and, as it is convenient, let us believe there are. — Ovid Copy Share Image
I hate a woman who offers herself because she ought to do so, and cold and dry thinks of her sewing when making love. — Ovid Copy Share Image
The sea's vast depths lie open to the fish; Wherever the breezes blow the bird may fly; So to the brave man every land's… — Ovid Copy Share Image
Rare is the virtue that's not ruled by Fortune, That stands unshaken even when Fortune flees. — Ovid Copy Share Image
Thus all things altered. Nothing dies. And here and there the unbodied spirit flies. — Ovid Copy Share Image
