Zitate von Vergil
Ein bekanntes Zitat von Vergil:
Naturalia non sunt turpia. - Das Natürliche ist nicht schimpflich.
Informationen über Vergil
Dichter, Hofpoet des altrömischen Kaisers Octavianus Augustus (Rom, 70 - 19 v. Chr.).
Vergil · Geburtsdatum · Sterbedatum
Geboren am 15.10.0-70 in Andes/bei Mantua
Gestorben am 21.09.0-19 in Brundisium
Sternzeichen: ♎ Waage
Unbekannt
Weitere 720 Zitate von Vergil
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The noblest motive is the public good.
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The Shepherd, Corydon, burned with love for handsome Alexis, his master's favourite, but he was not getting what he hoped for.
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The spirit within nourishes, and mind instilled throughout the living parts activates the whole mass and mingles with the vast frame.
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The way down to hell (Hades) is easy. / The gates of black Dis stand open night and day. / But to retrace one's steps and escape to the upper air / That is toil, that is labor.
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There are two gates of Sleep, one of which it is held is made of horn and by it easy egress is given to real ghosts; the other shining, fashioned of gleaming white ivory, but the shades send deceptive visions that way to the light.
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There's a snake hidden in the grass.
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These movements of souls and these contests, however great, having been contained by the throwing of a little dust, will be quiet.
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These success encourages: they can because they think they can.
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They can because they think they can.
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They stood begging to be the first to make the voyage over and they reached out their hands in longing for the further shore.
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Three times they endeavoured to pile Ossa on Pelion, no less, and to roll leafy Olympus on top of Ossa; three times our Father broke up the towering mountains with a thunderbolt.
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Through the friendly silence of the soundless moonlight.
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Thus she spoke and turned away with a flash of her rosy neck, and her ambrosial hair exhaled a divine fragrance; her dress flowed right down to her feet and her true godhead was evident from her walk.
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Thus you bees make honey not for yourselves. Thus you birds build nests not for yourselves. Thus you sheep bear fleeces not for yourselves.
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Time bears away all things, even the mind.
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Tityrus, you who lie under cover of the spreading beech-tree, you are practising your pastoral music on a thin stalk.
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To what do you not drive human hearts, cursed craving for gold!
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Trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Greeks when they offer gifts.
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Trust not too much to an enchanting face.
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Trust one who has gone through it.