Ovid

There is a god within us.

It is when he stirs us that our bosom warms ; it is

his impulse that sows the seeds of inspiration.

My son, I caution you to keep

The middle way, for if your pinions dip

Too low the waters may impede your flight;

And if they soar too high the sun may scorch them.

Fly midway.

For those things which were done either by our fathers, or ancestors, and in which we ourselves had no share, we can scarcely call our own.

You will be safest in the middle.

Pursuits become habits.

O impious use! to Nature's laws oppos'd,

Where bowels are in other bowels clos'd:

Where fatten'd by their fellow's fat, they thrive;

Maintain'd by murder, and by death they live.

'Tis then for nought, that Mother Earth provides

The stores of all she shows, and all she hides,

If men with fleshy morsels must be fed,

And chaw with bloody teeth the breathing bread:

What else is this, but to devour our guests,

And barb'rously renew Cyclopean feasts!

We, by destroying life, our life sustain;

And gorge th' ungodly maw with meats obscene.

Time, the devourer of all things.

Love is a thing full of anxious fears.

Now are fields of corn where Troy once stood.

We're slow to believe what wounds us.

Invia virtuti nulla est via!

Fas est et ab hoste doceri.