Truly now is the golden age; the highest honour comes by means of gold; by gold love is procured. — Ovid Copy Share Image
As many as the shells that are on the shore, so many are the pains of love; the darts that wound are… — Ovid Copy Share Image
Ovid lies here, the poet, skilled in love's gentle sport; By his own talents he worked his undoing. Oh, you who pass… — Ovid Copy Share Image
The love of fame usually spurs on the mind. [Lat., Ingenio stimulos subdere fama solet.] — Ovid Copy Share Image
Our integrity is never worth so much as when we have parted with our all to keep it. — Ovid Copy Share Image
If you would conquer Love, he must be fought At his first onslaught; sprinkle but a drop Of water, the new-kindled flame… — Ovid Copy Share Image
Wind feeds the fire, and wind extinguishes: The flames are nourished by a gentle breeze, Yet, if it stronger grows, they sink… — Ovid Copy Share Image
“I got nervous at bulls and eagles, Trying to figure what shape Zeus might take for sex When it could be your… — Ovid Copy Share Image
It is not safe to despise what Love commands. He reigns supreme, and rules the mighty gods. — 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
