Ovid The Art Of Love Quotes

Only she is chaste whom none has invited

اسرع الي خلع خفيها عن قدميها الرقيقتين ان كانت لابستهما أو البسهما قدميها ان كانتا مجردتين منهما, و ان شكت برداً فدفئ كفيها في صدرك, و لو ارتجفت برداً. ولا تحسبها ذلة ان تمسك مرآتها بيدك, يا من ولدت حراً لا قناً(هي ذلة حقاً لكن ما اسرع ان تستعذبها)

Agamemnon escaped with his life From land battles and sea storms, then fell to his wife.

Nothing is stronger than Custom (Fac tibi consuescat: nil adsuetudine maius)

Should anyone here in Rome lack finesse at love-making, Let him Try me - read my book, and the results are guaranteed! Technique is the secret. Charioteer, sailor, oarsman, All need it. Technique can control Love himself.

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.

And when wine has soaked Cupid’s drunken wings, he’s stayed, weighed down, a captive of the place. ... Wine rouses courage and is fit for passion: care flies, and deep drinking dilutes it. ... Don’t trust the treacherous lamplight overmuch: night and wine can harm your view of beauty. Paris saw the goddesses in the light, a cloudless heaven, when he said to Venus: ‘Venus, you win, over them both.’ Faults are hidden at night: every blemish is forgiven, and the hour makes whichever girl you like beautiful. Judge jewellery, and fabric stained with purple, judge a face, or a figure, in the light.

Let your mistress’s birthday be one of great terror to you: that’s a black day when anything has to be given. However much you avoid it, she’ll still win: it’s a woman’s skill, to strip wealth from an ardent lover. A loose-robed pedlar comes to your lady: she likes to buy: and explains his prices while you’re sitting there. She’ll ask you to look, because you know what to look for: then kiss you: then ask you to buy her something there. She swears that she’ll be happy with it, for years, but she needs it now, now the price is right. If you say you haven’t the money in the house, she’ll ask for a note of hand – and you’re sorry you learnt to write. Why - she asks doesn’t she for money as if it’s her birthday, just for the cake, and how often it is her birthday, if she’s in need? Why - she weeps doesn’t she, mournfully, for a sham loss, that imaginary gem that fell from her pierced ear? They many times ask for gifts, they never give in return: you lose, and you’ll get no thanks for your loss. And ten mouths with as many tongues wouldn’t be enough for me to describe the wicked tricks of whores.

Male beauty’s better for neglect.

Quid vos perdiderit, dicam? nescistis amare: Defuit ars vobis; arte perennat amor. Що вас згубило? Не вміли любить: бракувало мистецтва - Тільки мистецька любов може тривалою буть.

You ask perhaps if one should take the maid herself? Such a plan brings the greatest risk with it. In one case, fresh from bed, she’ll get busy, in another be tardy, in one case you’re a prize for her mistress, in the other herself. There’s chance in it: even if it favours the idea, my advice nevertheless is to abstain. I don’t pick my way over sharp peaks and precipices, no youth will be caught out being lead by me. Still, while she’s giving and taking messages, if her body pleases you as much as her zeal, make the lady your first priority, her companion the next: Love should never be begun with a servant.

Eis os únicos barcos que temos para voltar a nossa pátria; eis nosso único meio de escapar de Minos. Ele, que fechou todas as outras saídas, não pode fechar o ar para nós; resta-nos o ar; fenda-o graças a minha invenção. Mas não é para a virgem de Tégia, nem para o companheiro de Boótes, que é preciso olhar, mas para Orião, armado com uma clava; é por mim que você deve orientar sua marcha com as asas que eu lhe darei; irei na frente para mostrar o caminho; preocupe-se somente em me seguir; guiado por mim você estará seguro, se através das camadas do éter, nós nos aproximarmos do sol, a cera não poderá suportar o calor; se, descendo, agitarmos as asas muito perto do mar, nossas plumas, batendo, serão molhadas pelas águas marinhas. Voe entre os dois. Preste atenção também nos ventos, meu filho; onde seu sopro o guiar, deixe-se levar em suas asas." (Conselhos de Dédalo a Ícaro - em A Arte de Amar)

The poem is probably Ovid’s smutty guide to urban adultery, the Ars Amatoria–Art of Love–in which he tells his readers how to flirt with smart young city women, and how to take things quite a bit further than that. This jokey guide was at odds with the ostensible morality reforms which Augustus had ushered in after becoming emperor.

I MEAN not to defend the scapes of any, Or justify my vices being many; For I confess, if that might merit favour, Here I display my lewd and loose behaviour. I loathe, yet after that I loathe, I run: 5 Oh, how the burthen irks, that we should shun. I cannot rule myself but where Love please; Am driven like a ship upon rough seas. No one face likes me best, all faces move, A hundred reasons make me ever love. 10 If any eye me with a modest look, I blush, and by that blushful glance am took; And she that’s coy I like, for being no clown, Methinks she would be nimble when she’s down. Though her sour looks a Sabine’s brow resemble, 15 I think she’ll do, but deeply can dissemble. If she be learned, then for her skill I crave her; If not, because she’s simple I would have her. Before Callimachus one prefers me far; Seeing she likes my books, why should we jar? 20 Another rails at me, and that I write, Yet would I lie with her, if that I might: Trips she, it likes me well; plods she, what then? She would be nimbler lying with a man. And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long, 25 To quaver on her lips even in her song; Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning, Who would not love those hands for their swift running? And her I like that with a majesty, Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesy. 30 To leave myself, that am in love with all, Some one of these might make the chastest fall. If she be tall, she’s like an Amazon, And therefore fills the bed she lies upon: If short, she lies the rounder: to speak troth, 35 Both short and long please me, for I love both. I think what one undecked would be, being drest; Is she attired? then show her graces best. A white wench thralls me, so doth golden yellow: And nut-brown girls in doing have no fellow. 40 If her white neck be shadowed with brown hair, Why so was Leda’s, yet was Leda fair. Amber-tress’d is she? Then on the morn think I: My love alludes to every history: A young wench pleaseth, and an old is good, 45 This for her looks, that for her womanhood: Nay what is she, that any Roman loves, But my ambitious ranging mind approves?

In trying to find out what Bruno thought of his priesthood, we now have a serious problem which we did not have before. In Venice, he told his fellow-prisoners that he was an enemy of the mass, and thought transubstantiation a ridiculous idea and the Catholic ritual bestial and blasphemous. He compared the elevation of the host to hanging somebody on a gallows, or perhaps to lifting him up on a pitchfork. He told somebody who had dreamt of going to mass that that was a terrible omen; and he performed a mock mass with Ovid's Art of Love instead of a missal. He joked about hungry priests going off from mass to a good breakfast. He spoke particularly ill of the mass as a sacrifice, and said that Abel, the archetype of the sacrificing priest, was a criminal butcher who was rightly killed by the vegetarian Cain. A phrase he used elsewhere, apparently about Christ's passion and not directly about the mass itself, seems nevertheless to express rather exactly his attitude to is: he called it 'some kind of a cabbalistic tragedy'.

Sure, there is Ovid, the Roman poet who wrote The Art of Love; Don Juan, the mythical womanizer based on the exploits of various Spanish noblemen; the Duke de Lauzun, the legendary French rake who died on the guillotine; and Casanova, who detailed his hundred-plus conquests in four thousand pages of memoirs. But the undisputed father of modern seduction is Ross Jeffries, a tall, skinny, porous-faced self-proclaimed nerd from Marina Del Rey, California. Guru, cult leader, and social gadfly, he commands an army sixty thousand horny men strong, including top government officials, intelligence officers, and cryptographers. His