In a moment comes either death or joyful victory. [Lat., Horae Momento cita mors venit aut victoria laeta.] — Horace Copy Share Image
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - It is a sweet and becoming thing to die for ones country. — Horace Copy Share Image
Alas, Postumus, the fleeting years slip by, nor will piety give any stay to wrinkles and pressing old age and untamable death. — Horace Copy Share Image
Who then is free? The wise who can command his passions, who fears not want, nor death, nor chains, firmly resisting his… — Horace Copy Share Image
Who then is free? the wise man who is lord over himself; Whom neither poverty nor death, nor chains alarm; strong to… — Horace Copy Share Image
Joys do not fall to the rich alone; nor has he lived ill of whose birth and death no one took note. — Horace Copy Share Image
Nothing is difficult to mortals; we strive to reach heaven itself in our folly. [Lat., Nil mortalibus arduum est; Coelum ipsum petimus… — Horace Copy Share Image
Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings. — Horace Copy Share Image
Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals: we storm heaven itself in our folly. — Horace Copy Share Image
Marble statues, engraved with public inscriptions, by which the life and soul return after death to noble leaders. — Horace Copy Share Image
“Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres. - Pale Death kicks in the huts of paupers just as it does… — Horace Copy Share Image
Years, following years, steal something every day; At last they steal us from ourselves away. — Horace Copy Share Image
We are all compelled to take the same road; from the urn of death, shaken for all, sooner or later the lot… — Horace Copy Share Image
Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces. — Horace Copy Share Image
Not even piety will stay wrinkles, nor the encroachments of age, nor the advance of death, which cannot be resisted. — Horace Copy Share Image
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings. [Lat., Pallida mors aequo pulsat… — Horace Copy Share Image
Either a peaceful old age awaits me, or death flies round me with black wings. [Lat., Seu me tranquilla senectus Exspectat, seu… — Horace Copy Share Image
In the capacious urn of death, every name is shaken. [Lat., Omne capax movet urna nomen.] — Horace Copy Share Image
Lighten grief with hopes of a brighter morrow; Temper joy, in fear of a change of fortune. — Horace Copy Share Image
Strange - is it not? That of the myriads who Before us passed the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us… — Horace Copy Share Image
“Finxerunt animi, raro et perpauca loquentis. (To action little, less to words inclinded.)” — Horace Copy Share Image
No verse can give pleasure for long, nor last, that is written by drinkers of water. — Horace Copy Share Image
Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low; her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind. — Horace Copy Share Image
In a moment comes either death or joyful victory. [Lat., Horae Momento cita mors venit aut victoria laeta.] — Horace Copy Share Image
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - It is a sweet and becoming thing to die for ones country. — Horace Copy Share Image
Neither men, nor gods, nor booksellers' shelves permit ordinary poets to exist. [Lat., Mediocribus esse poetis Non homines, non di, non concessere columnae.] — Horace Copy Share Image
Don't yield to that alluring witch, laziness, or else be prepared to surrender all that you have won in your better moments. — Horace Copy Share Image
Avoid inquisitive persons, for they are sure to be gossips, their ears are open to hear, but they will not keep what is entrusted… — Horace Copy Share Image
“You may drive out Nature with a pitchfork, yet she still will hurry back.” — Horace Copy Share Image
