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Ita mihi videtur non minus stomachi nostro ac Caesari fecisse." To Atticus, v. 11. "Quod ad Caesarem crebri et non belli de eo rumores. Sed susurratores dumtaxat veniunt.... Neque adhuc certi quidquam est, neque haec incerta tamen vulgo jactantur. Sed inter paucos, quos tu nosti, palam secreto narrantur. At Domitius cum manus ad os apposuit!" Caelius to Cicero, Ad Fam. viii. 1.
Poor verses, and showing too delicate a sensibility to be healthy in any boy; yet dear to me and dear to Walter for Power's sake, and because they show the strange charm which Semlyn has for those who have the gift of appreciating those natural treasures with which earth plentifully fills her lap. Pudorem, amicitiam, pudicitiam, divina atque humana promiscum, nihil pensi neque moderati habere.
Proprium humani ingenii est, odisse quem laeseris: Domitiani vero natura praeceps in iram, et quo obscurior, eo irrevocabilior, moderatione tamen prudentiaque Agricolae leniebatur: quia non contumacia neque inani jactatione libertatis famam fatumque provocabat.
XLVI. Si quis piorum manibus locus, si, ut sapientibus placet, non cum corpore exstinguuntur magnae animae, placide quiescas, nosque, domum tuam, ab infirmo desiderio et muliebribus lamentis ad contemplationem virtutum tuarum voces, quas neque lugeri neque plangi fas est: admiratione te potius, te immortalibus laudibus, et, si natura suppeditet, similitudine decoremus.
"I feel peaceful as old age," he quoted. But his eye falling on the white carnation which Giovanna, knowing her signorino was going in serata, had provided for his buttonhole, lines less grey came to his lips: "Neque tu choreas...." He fished for the half-forgotten words. "Donec virenti canities abest...."
The words of the comic poet of ancient times remain good: Quae res in se neque consilium, neque modum habet ullum, eam consilio regere non potes. People who marry for love do so in the interest of the species and not of the individuals.
There is I know not what natural sweetness in hearing one's self commended; but we are a great deal too fond of it: "Laudari metuam, neque enim mihi cornea fibra est Sed recti finemque extremumque esse recuso Euge tuum, et belle." I care not so much what I am in the opinions of others, as what I am in my own; I would be rich of myself, and not by borrowing.
But this is undoubtedly what is now called Monaco; the harbour of which exactly tallies with what Strabo says of the Portus Monaeci neque magnas, neque multas capit naves, It holds but a few vessels and those of small burthen. Ptolomy, indeed, seems to mention it under the name of Herculis Portus, different from the Portus Monaeci.
The knot of the controversy excepted, I have always kept myself in equanimity and pure indifference: "Neque extra necessitates belli praecipuum odium gero;" for which I am pleased with myself; and the more because I see others commonly fail in the contrary direction.
Vergil's parody, which substitutes the mule-team plodding through the Gallic mire for Catullus' graceful yacht speeding home from Asia, follows the original phraseology with amusing fidelity: Sabinus ille, quem videtis, hospites Ait fuisse mulio celerrimus, Neque ullius volantis impetum cisi Nequisse praeterire, sive Mantuam Opus foret volare sive Brixiam.
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