“And now the measure of my song is done: The work has reached its end; the book is mine, None shall unwrite… — 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
