John Conington Zitate
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John Conington war ein britischer Klassischer Philologe.

✵ 10. August 1825 – 23. Oktober 1869

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“For easier 'tis to learn and recollect
What moves derision than what claims respect.”

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Book II, epistle i, p. 160
Translations, The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869), Epistles

“You lose no time in taking out a fly,
Or straw, it may be, that torments your eye;
Why, when a thing devours your mind, adjourn
Till this day year all thought of the concern?
Come now, have courage to be wise: begin:
You're halfway over when you once plunge in:
He who puts off the time for mending, stands
A clodpoll by the stream with folded hands,
Waiting till all the water be gone past;
But it runs on, and will, while time shall last.”

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Book I, epistle ii, p. 104
Translations, The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869), Epistles

“Each has his destined time: a span
Is all the heritage of man:
'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praise
To lengthen fame through after days.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book X, p. 367

“May Heaven, if virtue claim its thought,
If justice yet avail for aught;
Heaven, and the sense of conscious right,
With worthier meed your acts requite!”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book I, p. 29

“A lethargy of sleep,
Most like to death, so calm, so deep.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VI, p. 209

“O ye Gods, and O great Jove,
Have pity on a father's love
And hear Evander's prayer:
If 'tis your purpose to restore
My Pallas to my arms once more;
If living is to see his face,
Then grant me life, of your dear grace:
No toil too hard to bear.
But ah! if Fortune be my foe,
And meditate some crushing blow,
Now, now the thread in mercy break,
While hope sees dim and cares mistake,
While still I clasp thee darling boy,
My latest and my only joy,
Nor let assurance, worse than fear,
With cruel tidings wound my ear.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VIII, p. 295

“At Orcus' portals hold their lair
Wild Sorrow and avenging Care;
And pale Diseases cluster there,
And pleasureless Decay
Foul Penury, and Fears that kill,
And Hunger, counsellor of ill,
A ghastly presence they:
Suffering and Death the threshold keep,
And with them Death's blood-brother, Sleep.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VI, p. 197

“Bear up, and live for happier days.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book I, p. 12

“He who maligns an absent friend's fair fame,
Who says no word for him when others blame,
Who courts a reckless laugh by random hits,
Just for the sake of ranking among wits,
Who feigns what he ne'er saw, a secret blabs,
Beware him, Roman! that man steals or stabs!”

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Book I, satire iv, p. 18
Translations, The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869), Satires

“Fierce boils in every vein
Indignant shame and passion blind,
The tempest of the lover's mind,
The soldier's high disdain.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book XII, p. 465

“Ah! would but Jupiter restore
The strength I had in days of yore!”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VIII, p. 294

“Let Rome be glorious on the earth,
The centre of Italian worth.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book XII, p. 472

“O impotence of man's frail mind
To fate and to the future blind,
Presumptuous and o'erweening still
When Fortune follows at its will!”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book X, p. 369

“Myself not ignorant of woe,
Compassion I have learned to show.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book I, p. 31

“Ah son! compel me not to speak
The sorrows of our race!
That youth the Fates but just display
To earth, nor let him longer stay:
With gifts like these for aye to hold,
Rome's heart had e'en been overbold.
Ah! what a groan from Mars's plain
Shall o'er the city sound!
How wilt thou gaze on that long train,
Old Tiber, rolling to the main
Beside his new-raised mound!
No youth of Ilium's seed inspires
With hope as fair his Latian sires:
Nor Rome shall dandle on her knee
A nursling so adored as he.
O piety! O ancient faith!
O hand untamed in battle scathe!
No foe had lived before his sword,
Stemmed he on foot the war's red tide
Or with relentless rowel gored
His foaming charger's side.
Dear child of pity! shouldst thou burst
The dungeon-bars of Fate accurst,
Our own Marcellus thou!”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VI, pp. 226–227

“Then come the clamour and the blare,
And shouts and clarions rend the air.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book II, p. 52

“Blest pair! if aught my verse avail,
No day shall make your memory fail
From off the heart of time.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book IX, p. 324

“Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may;
With life so short 'twere wrong to lose a day.”

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Dum licet, in rebus jucundis vive beatus;
Vive memor quam sis aevi brevis.
Book II, satire viii, line 96 (trans. Conington)
Translations, The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869), Satires

“Virtue's a mere name,
Or 'tis high venture that achieves high aim.”

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Book I, epistle xvii, p. 138
Translations, The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace (1869), Epistles

“Tis come, our fated day of death.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book II, p. 53

“But, Roman, thou, do thou control
The nations far and wide;
Be this thy genius, to impose
The rule of peace on vanquished foes,
Show pity to the humbled soul,
And crush the sons of pride.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VI, pp. 225–226

“My chief, let Fate cry on or back,
'Tis ours to follow, nothing slack:
Whate'er betide, he only cures
The stroke of Fortune who endures.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book V, p. 175

“Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn
Wreak'st not on those of woman born?”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book IV, p. 127

“So vast the labor to create
The fabric of the Roman state!”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book I, p. 4

“Terror wings his flight.”

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Quelle: Translations, The Aeneid of Virgil (1866), Book VIII, p. 280

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