Ovid Metamorphoses Quotes

I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth.

Fas est ab hoste doceri. One should learn even from one's enemies.

Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all.” "Be patient and tough; one day this pain will be useful to you.

Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

I am dragged along by a strange new force. Desire and reason are pulling in different directions. I see the right way and approve it, but follow the wrong.

God himself helps those who dare.

As wave is driven by wave And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead, So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows, Always, for ever and new. What was before Is left behind; what never was is now; And every passing moment is renewed.

In the make-up of human beings, intelligence counts for more than our hands, and that is our true strength.

And besides, we lovers fear everything

...et ignotas animum dimittit in artes, naturamque nouat. (to arts unknown he bends his wits, and alters nature.)

When he, whoever of the gods it was, had thus arranged in order and resolved that chaotic mass, and reduced it, thus resolved, to cosmic parts, he first moulded the Earth into the form of a mighty ball so that it might be of like form on every side … And, that no region might be without its own forms of animate life, the stars and divine forms occupied the floor of heaven, the sea fell to the shining fishes for their home, Earth received the beasts, and the mobile air the birds … Then Man was born:… though all other animals are prone, and fix their gaze upon the earth, he gave to Man an uplifted face and bade him stand erect and turn his eyes to heaven.

My soul would sing of metamorphoses. But since, o gods, you were the source of these bodies becoming other bodies, breathe your breath into my book of changes: may the song I sing be seamless as its way weaves from the world's beginning to our day.

Water belongs to us all. Nature did not make the sun one person's property, nor air, nor water, cool and clear.

Fortune resists half-hearted prayers.

My vengeance is my guilt

what we have been, or now are, we shall not be tomorrow

Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes. And he sets his mind to unknown arts.

Even as a cow she was lovely.

You will go most safely by the middle way.

She made up prayers and said them, Worshipping unknown gods with unknown singing, Her customary magic, which would cover The white moon’s face and darken the sun with cloud.

for no god may undo what another god has done...

your fate is mortal: what you ask for isn’t.

Right it is to be taught even by the enemy.

Their useless torches on dry hedges throw, That catch the flames, and kindle all the row; So burns the God, consuming in desire, And feeding in his breast a fruitless fire

Venus is kind to creatures as young as we; We know not what we do, and while we’re young We have the right to live and love like gods.

Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor.

I see and approve of the better, but I follow the worse.

Look at the four-spaced year That imitates four seasons of our lives; First Spring, that delicate season, bright with flowers, Quickening, yet shy, and like a milk-fed child, Its way unsteady while the countryman Delights in promise of another year. Green meadows wake to bloom, frail shoots and grasses, And then Spring turns to Summer's hardiness, The boy to manhood. There's no time of year Of greater richness, warmth, and love of living, New strength untried. And after Summer, Autumn, First flushes gone, the temperate season here Midway between quick youth and growing age, And grey hair glinting when the head turns toward us, Then senile Winter, bald or with white hair, Terror in palsy as he walks alone.

Argus, you are fallen, and the light in all your lamps is utterly put out: one hundred eyes, one darkness all the same!

who can carry The incineration of a Universe?

amor crevit tempore

His eyes that swam in death's dark night looked round For Athis, and he lay down by his side, Solaced among the shades to share his death.

And now the measure of my song is done: The work has reached its end; the book is mine, None shall unwrite these words: nor angry Jove, Nor war, nor fire, nor flood, Nor venomous time that eats our lives away. Then let that morning come, as come it will, When this disguise I carry shall be no more, And all the treacherous years of life undone, And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music, The deathless music of the circling stars. As long as Rome is the Eternal City These lines shall echo from the lips of men, As long as poetry speaks truth on earth, That immortality is mine to wear.

Venus of Eryx, from her mountain throne, Saw Hades and clasped her swift-winged son, and said: 'Cupid, my child, my warrior, my power, Take those sure shafts with which you conquer all, And shoot your speedy arrows to the heart Of the great god to whom the last lot fell When the three realms were drawn. Your mastery Subdues the gods of heaven and even Jove, Subdues the ocean's deities and him, Even him, who rules the ocean's deities. Why should Hell lag behind? Why not there too Extend your mother's empire and your own....? Then Cupid, guided by his mother, opened His quiver of all his thousand arrows Selected one, the sharpest and the surest, The arrow most obedient to the bow, And bent the pliant horn against his knee And shot the barbed shaft deep in Pluto's heart.

But love, resistless love, my soul invades, discretion this, affection that perswades. I see the right and I approve it too, condemn the wrong and yet the wrong pursue.

Keep your run along a course between those constellations. I leave the rest to Fortune: may she help and guide you better than you do yourself.

Apollo Loves at first sight; he wants to marry Daphne, He hopes for what he wants—all wishful thinking!

He plunged his arms deep to embrace One who vanished in agitated water. Again and again he kissed The lips that seemed to be rising to kiss his But dissolved, as he touched them, Into a soft splash and a shiver of ripples. How could he clasp and caress his own reflection? And still he could not comprehend What the deception was, what the delusion. He simply became more excited by it. Poor misguided boy! Why clutch so vainly At such a brittle figment? What you hope To lay hold of has no existence. Look away and what you love is nowhere.

In the Roman world, Ovid’s Metamorphoses – that extraordinary mythological epic about people changing shape (and probably the most influential work of literature on Western art after the Bible) – repeatedly returns to the idea of the silencing of women in the process of their transformation.

I am compelled to speak of metamorphoses

you put too much faith in the power of the gods, if you think they can give and take away the shape of things

I intend to speak of metamorphoses.

The god of Delos, proud in victory, Saw Cupid draw his bow's taut arc, and said: 'Mischievous boy, what are a brave man's arms To you? That gear becomes my shoulders best. My aim is sure; I wound my enemies, I wound wild beasts; my countless arrows slew But now the bloated Python, whose vast coils Across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves! You have your torch to light them!Let that content you; never claim my fame!' And Venus' son replied: 'Your bow, Apollo, May vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, So likewise shall your glory yield to mine.

Since you can never be my bride, My tree at least you shall be! Let the laurel Adorn, henceforth, my hair, my lyre, my quiver: Let Roman victors, in the long procession, Wear laurel wreaths for triumph and ovation.

Nothing retains its original form, but Nature, the goddess of all renewal, keeps altering one shape into another. Nothing at all in the world can perish, you have to believe me; things merely vary and change their appearance. What we call birth is merely becoming a different entity; what we call death is ceasing to be the same. Though the parts may possibly shift their position from here to there, the wholeness in nature is constant.

Ceza kaldırılabilir; ama suç insanın içinde sonsuza kadar yaşar.

Time gliding by without our knowledge cheats us, and nothing can be swifter than the years.

ego pulveris hausti ostendens cumulum, quot haberet corpora pulvis, tot mihi natales contingere vana rogavi; excidit, ut peterem iuvenes quoque protinus annos.

He gazes at her lips, and knows that gazing Is not enough. He marvels at her fingers, Her hands, her wrists, her arms, bare to the shoulder, And what he does not see he thinks is better. But still she flees him, swifter than the wind,

Aliudque cupido, mens aliud suadet: video meliora proboque,deteriora sequor!

From that time on she lived in lonely caves.

An animal more like the gods than these, more intellectually capable and able to control the other beasts, had not as yet appeared: now man was born, either

Thence are we a hardy generation, and able to endure fatigue, and we give proofs from what original we are sprung.

To wish for what you want is not enough; With ardent longing you must strive for it.

Vulcan, the god who had forged his armour, had fired his body to ashes; all that remained of Achilles the great was a small amount of material, barely sufficient to fill an urn. But his fame lives on to fill the expanse of the whole wide world. His glory measures up to the man; it matches his noble self, untouched by shadowy Hades.

My mind leads me to speak now of forms changed into new bodies: O gods above, inspire this undertaking (which you’ve changed as well) and guide my poem in its epic sweep from the world’s beginning to the present day. The

So have I seen a river, where nothing obstructed its course, flow smoothly on with but a gentle murmur; but, where it was held in check by dams of timber and stone set in its way, foaming and boiling it went, fiercer for the obstruction.

Their love was equal; on the hills they roamed together, and together they would go back to their cave; and this time too they went into the Lapith's palace side by side and side by side were fighting in the fray. A javelin (no knowing from whose hand) came from the left and wounded Cyllarus, landing below the place where the chest joins neck--slight wound, but when the point was pulled away, cold grew his damaged heart and cold his limbs. Hylonome embraced him as he died, caressed the wound and, putting lips to lips, she tried to stay his spirit as it fled. And when she saw him lifeless, she moaned words that in that uproar failed to reach my ears; and fell upon the spear that pierced her love, and, dying, held her husband in her arms.

Frightened, he runs off to the silent fields and howls aloud, attempting speech in vain; foam gathers at the corners of his mouth; he turns his lust for slaughter on the flocks, and mangles them, rejoicing still in blood. His garments now become a shaggy pelt; his arms turn into legs, and he, to wolf while still retaining traces of the man: greyness the same, the same cruel visage, the same cold eyes and bestial appearance. ~ The story of King Lycaon from Ovid's Metamorphosis, Book I, ll. 321-331 tr. Charles Martin

Non inpune feres neque'' ait ''reddere Canenti, laesaque quid faciat, quid amans, quid femina disces rebus'' ait ''sed amans et laesa et femina Circe!

Thus earth of late so rude, So shapeless, man, till now unknown, became.

Alles verändert sich nur, nichts stirbt.

To feed her love on melancholy sorrow

Què li podia retreure sinó haver-la estimada?

If a god said ‘Live, and set love aside’ I’d say ‘no’! Girls are such sweet misfortune.

All things do change; but nothing sure doth perish.

Ah, wretched me! that love is not to be cured by any herbs; and that those arts which afford relief to all, are of no avail for their master.

dumque sitim sedare cupit, sitis altera crevit

When lizard-footed giants climbed the hills And with a hundred hands clawed at the sky.

Phantasos: he takes illusory shapes of all inanimate things, earth, stones, rivers, trees.

And last her voice remained. Vanished in forest

una duos nox perdet amantes. one night loses two lovers.

How I wish your eyes were able to pierce deep down to my heart and catch a glimpse of your father’s anxiety.

Wait for the final day. Call no man happy until he is dead and his body is laid to rest in the grave.

He finds Eurydice in blessed fields. His yearning arms embrace her. They stroll, now side by side, now as he follows, now as he leads. And Orpheus in safety can turn and look at his Eurydice.

I am prepared for any crime, my sister, / To burn the palace, and into the flaming ruin / Hurl Tereus, the author of all evils. / I would cut out his tongue, his eyes, cut off / The parts which brought you shame...

Perhaps you think that there are sacred groves and cities of the gods along the way, temples displaying all the gifts of wealth? Not so: your path is full of lurking perils as well as images of savage beasts. “And if you hold this course unswervingly, you’ll find the horns of Taurus in your way, 110 the Archer and the gaping jaws of Leo, and Scorpio, whose long and curving arms sweep one way, while the curving arms of Cancer sweep broadly in the opposite direction.

Between the houses was a common wall, Flawed with a narrow chink long years ago, When it was built. This chink, so long unnoticed- But what does it not see? - those lovers found And made of it their voices' passageway, And safely flowed the whispered words of love

Ajax defending his honor when he fought against Troy along with Ulysses, who claimed his actions enabled the Greeks to be victorious. The chiefs side with Ulysses, and Ajax, having lost his honor as a warrior, draws his sword and proclaims: "But this at least is mine, or does Ulysses claim this also for himself? This I must employ against myself; and the sword which has often reeked with Phrygian blood will now reek with its masters, lest any man but Ajax ever conquer Ajax.

She saw Narcissus roaming through the country, / Saw him, and burned, and followed him in secret / Burning the more she followed, as when sulfur / Smeared on the rim of torches, catches fire / When other fire comes near it. Oh, how often / She wanted to come near with coaxing speeches, / Make soft entreaties to him! / But her nature / Sternly forbids...

Even the Sun, whose star-born radiance Governs all the world, became the thrall of love.

gifts

Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes / And he applies his mind to unknown arts

You will be separated from yourself and yet be alive.

While she thus spoke night came on, most potent healer of our cares; and with the darkness her boldness grew.

In all creation nothing endures, all is in endless flux, each wandering shape a pilgrim passing by.

But now I get it! I am that other one! I've finally seen through my own image! I burn with love for - me! The spark I kindle is the torch I carry: whatever can I do? Am I the favor-seeker, or the favor sought? Why seek at all, when all that I desire is mine already? Riches in such abundance that I've been left completely without means! Oh, would that I were able to secede from my own body, depart from what I love! (Now that's an odd request from any lover.) My grief is draining me, my end is near; soon I will be extinguished in my prime. This death is no grave matter, for it brings an end to sorrow. Of course, I would have been delighted if my beloved could have lived on, but now in death we two will merge as one.

Through steep, and sheer, and inaccessible, through difficult and through impossible places, they track him, and he flees the hunt he has so often led, longing to cry out to the pack behind him, "It's me! Actaeon! Recognize your master!" But the words betray him and the air resounds with baying. ...torn by their teeth, he makes a sound no man would make and no stag either, a cry that echoes through those well-know heights; and kneeling like a supplicant at prayer, he turns towards them pleading with his eyes, as a man would with his hands.

they cast the stones behind: The stones (a miracle to mortal view, But long tradition makes it pass for true) Did first the rigour of their kind expel, And suppled into softness, as they fell

My vessel is launched on the boundless main and my sails are spread to the wind ! In the whole of the world there is nothing that stays unchanged. All is in flux. Any shape that is formed is constantly shifting. Time itself flows steadily by in perpetual motion. Think of a river: no river can ever arrest its current, nor can the fleeting hour. But as water is forced downstream by the water behind it and presses no less on the water ahead, so time is in constant flight and pursuit, continually new. The present turns into the past and the future replaces the present; every moment that passes is new and eternally changing.

Now I have finished my work, which nothing can ever destroy - not Jupiter's wrath, nor fire or sword, nor devouring time. That day which has power over nothing except this body of mine may come when it will and end the uncertain span of my life. But the finer part of myself shall sweep into eternity, higher than all of the stars. My name shall never be forgotten. Where-ever the might of Rome extends in the lands she has conquered, the people shall read and recite my words. Throughout all ages, if poets have vision to prophecy truth, I shall live in my fame.

As Ceres drank what she gave her, an insolent, coarse-looking boy strolled up in front of the goddess, burst into laughter and jeered, 'What a greedy female you are!' Deeply insulted, she rapidly threw what was left of her drink in the prattling idiot's face and drenched him in barley mixture.

Y ya he dado término a una obra que ni la ira de Júpiter ni el fuego, ni el hierro, ni el tiempo devorador podrán destruir. Ese día, que, sin embargo, no tiene poder más que sobre mi cuerpo, pondrá fin cuando quiera al incierto espacio de mi existencia; pero yo volaré, eterno, por encima de las altas estrellas con la parte mejor de mí, y mi nombre persistirá imborrable. Y allá por donde el poder de Roma se extienda sobre las tierras sometidas, los labios del pueblo me leerán, y por todos los siglos, si algo de verdad hay en las predicciones de los poetas, gracias a la fama yo viviré.

Ovid tells us, in his Metamorphoses, that the young girls who were gathering flowers with Proserpina that fatal day were turned into the Sirens—the bird-bodied golden-feathered singers with female faces of the Homeric tradition—and then went wandering about over land and sea, crying out in search of their vanished playmate.

Philemon counselled with old Baucis first; and then discovered to the listening Gods their hearts' desire, ‘We pray you let us have the care of your new temple; and since we have passed so many years in harmony, let us depart this life together— Let the same hour take us both—I would not see the tomb of my dear wife; and let me not be destined to be buried by her hands!’ At once their wishes were fulfilled. So long as life was granted they were known to be the temple's trusted keepers, and when age had enervated them with many years, as they were standing, by some chance, before the sacred steps, and were relating all these things as they had happened, Baucis saw Philemon, her old husband, and he, too, saw Baucis, as their bodies put forth leaves; and while the tops of trees grew over them, above their faces, — they spoke each to each; as long as they could speak they said, ‘Farewell, farewell, my own’—and while they said farewell; new leaves and branches covered both at once.

One of the greatest Roman poets was Ovid, an older contemporary of Jesus (his dates: 43 BCE–17 CE). His most famous work is his fifteen-volume Metamorphoses, which celebrates changes or transformations described in ancient mythology. Sometimes these changes involve gods who take on human form in order to interact, for a time, with mortals.

Aestus erat, mediamque dies exegerat horam; adposui medio membra levanda toro. pars adaperta fuit, pars altera clausa fenestrae; quale fere silvae lumen habere solent, qualia sublucent fugiente crepuscula Phoebo, aut ubi nox abiit, nec tamen orta dies. illa verecundis lux est praebenda puellis, qua timidus latebras speret habere pudor. ecce, Corinna venit, tunica velata recincta, candida dividua colla tegente coma— qualiter in thalamos famosa Semiramis isse dicitur, et multis Lais amata viris. Deripui tunicam—nec multum rara nocebat; pugnabat tunica sed tamen illa tegi. quae cum ita pugnaret, tamquam quae vincere nollet, victa est non aegre proditione sua. ut stetit ante oculos posito velamine nostros, in toto nusquam corpore menda fuit. quos umeros, quales vidi tetigique lacertos! forma papillarum quam fuit apta premi! quam castigato planus sub pectore venter! quantum et quale latus! quam iuvenale femur! Singula quid referam? nil non laudabile vidi et nudam pressi corpus ad usque meum. Cetera quis nescit? lassi requievimus ambo. proveniant medii sic mihi saepe dies!

it is the Mediterranean, specifically Italy, that gave us the poet Ovid, who in the Metamorphoses deplored the eating of animals, and the vegetarian Leonardo da Vinci, who envisioned a day when the life of an animal would be valued as highly as that of a person, and Saint Francis, who once petitioned the Holy Roman Emperor to scatter grain on fields on Christmas Day and give the crested larks a feast.

But now as Phoebus anointed Phaethon With medicinal blocker To protect him from the burning And fixed the crown of rays on the boy’s head He saw the tragedy to come And sighed: “At least, if you can, Stick to these instructions, my son. First: use the whip not at all, or lightly. But rein the team hard. It is not easy. Their whole inclination is to be gone. Second: avoid careering Over the whole five zones of heaven. Keep to that broad highway that curves Within three zones, temperate and tropic. Avoid the poles, and their killing blizzards. Keep to that highway, follow the wheel ruts. Share your heat fairly Between heaven and earth, not too low And not crashing in among the stars. Too high, You will set heaven aflame—and, too low, earth. The middle way is best, and safest. And do not veer too far to the right Where your wheels might crush the Serpent, nor to the left Where they might be shattered against the Altar. Take a bearing between them.

When thro' Earth's caverns I a-while have roul'd My waves, I rise, and here again behold The long-lost stars; and, as I late did glide Near Styx, Proserpina there I espy'd. Fear still with grief might in her face be seen; She still her rape laments; yet, made a queen, Beneath those gloomy shades her sceptre sways, And ev'n th' infernal king her will obeys. This heard, the Goddess like a statue stood, Stupid with grief; and in that musing mood Continu'd long; new cares a-while supprest The reigning of her immortal breast. At last to Jove her daughter's sire she flies, And with her chariot cuts the chrystal skies; She comes in clouds, and with dishevel'd hair, Standing before his throne, prefers her pray'r” (Ovid, Metamorphoses (Translated by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al). „ქვესკნელში ვწვეთავ, მივიწყებულ ვარსკვლავთა შევცქერ. მიწისქვეშეთა სტიქსის მორევს როს მივდიოდი, ვიხილე შენი პროზერპინა ჩემი თვალებით. თუმცა იურვის, აქამომდე კრთომა აქვს სახეს, დედოფალია მაინც. დიდი, ბნელი სამეფოს უფლებამორჭმულ ცოლად უზის ქვესკნელის ტირანს. მეხდაცემული იყო დიდხანს, მაგრამ როს ურვამ განდევნა დიდი გონდაბინდვა, ამხედრდა ეტლზე, ეთერს აიჭრა და სახეზე ნისლმობურული იუპიტერის წინ წარმოდგა გაშლილი თმებით“ (პუბლიუს ოვიდიუს ნაზონი, მეტამორფოზები (ლათინურიდან თარგმნეს: ნ. მელაშვილმა, ნ. ტონიამ, ი. გარაყანიძემ), თბ., 1980, 143).