The quality of the pleasure makes sometimes amends for the shortness of the enjoyment. Fortune is weary to carry one and the same man always upon her shoulders.
[Flesher ed. (1685)]

Fortune pays you sometimes for the intensity of her favours by the shortness of their duration. She soon tires of carrying any one long on her shoulders.
[tr. Jacobs (1892)]

Luck always compensates her intensity by her brevity. Fortune wearies of carrying anyone long upon her shoulders.
[tr. Fischer (1937)]

Sometimes Lady Luck compensates us, trading intensity for duration. She grows tired when she has to carry someone on her back for a long time.
[tr. Maurer (1992)]

That whensoever thou doest take on grievously, or makest great woe, little doest thou remember then that a man's life is but for a moment of time, and that within a while we shall all be in our graves.
[tr. Casaubon (1634)]

When you are most Angry and Gall'd, remember that Humane Life lasts but a Moment, and that we shall all of us very quickly , be laid in our Graves.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

When your anger and resentment is highest, remember human life is but for a moment. We shall be all presently stretched out dead corpses.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

When you are excessively provoked and suffer some real injury, reflect that human life is but of a moment's duration, and that in a short time we shall all be laid in our tombes together.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

Consider when thou art much vexed or grieved, that man's life is only a moment, and after a short time we are all laid out dead.
[tr. Long (1862)]

When you are most angry and vexed remember that human life lasts but a moment, and that we shall all of us very quickly be laid in our graves.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

When sorely provoked and out of patience, remember that man's life is but for a moment; a little while, and we all lie stretched in death.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

When you are vexed or worried overmuch, remember that man’s life is but for a moment, and that in a little we shall all be laid to rest.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

When thou art above measure angry or even out of patience, bethink thee that man's life is momentary, and in a little while we shall all have been laid out.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

When you are highly indignant or actually suffering, that man's life is but a moment, and in a little we are one and all laid low in death.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

When you are annoyed beyond measure and losing all patience, remember that human life lasts but a moment, and that in a short while we shall all have been laid to rest.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed. and 2011 ed.)]

When you lose your temper, or even feel irritated: that human life is very short. Before long all of us will be laid out side by side.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

When you are high in indignation and perhaps losing patience, remember that human life is a mere fragment of time and shortly we are all in our grave.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

Whenever you are excessively disturbed or even suffering, remember that human life lasts only a moment and that in a short time we will all be laid out for burial.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

Whenever you are really angry and upset, [remember] that human life is short and soon we will all be in the ground.
[tr. @sentantiq (2020)]

But if thou needs must tarry, tarry here
This single day, for in so short a space
Thou canst not execute the ills I dread.
[tr. Wodhull (1782)]

One single day, if so thy needs require,
I will indulge thee; in that little space
Thou wilt not do the horrid deeds I dread.
[tr. Potter (1814)]

But now if stay thou must, stay this one day;
Not so thou'lt compass any deed I dread.
[tr. Webster (1868)]

So now, if abide thou must, stay this one day only, for in it thou canst not do any of the fearful deeds I dread.
[tr. Coleridge (1891)]

But now if thou must stay, remain here yet one day, for thou wilt not do any horrid deed of which I have dread.
[tr. Buckley (1892)]

Now, if remain thou must, remain one day --
Too short for thee to do the deeds I dread.
[tr. Way (Loeb) (1894)]

So linger on,
If thou needs must, till the next risen sun;
No further. . . . In one day there scarce can be
Those perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me.
[tr. Murray (1906)]

But now, if you must stay, stay for this day alone.
For in it you can do none of the things I fear.
[tr. Warner (1944)]

So remain, if you must, but only for one day.
You'll not do any of the terrible things I fear.
[tr. Podlecki (1989)]

Now stay, if stay you must, for one more day. You will not do the mischief I fear by then.
[tr. Kovacs (1994)]

Stay, if you need to but just one more day.
In any case, what harm could you do me in such a short time?
[tr. Theodoridis (2004)]

Now, if stay you must, stay for one day.
you can not do any dreadful deed of which I am in terror.
[tr. Luschnig (2007)]

So, if you must remain, stay one more day.
In that time you can’t do the harm I fear.
[tr. Johnston (2008), l. 421ff]

But now, if you must stay, stay this one day;
you won't do any of the ghastly things I fear.
[tr. Ewans (2022)]

So now, if you must remain, stay this one day only; for you will not do anything terrible [deinon] of which I am afraid.
[tr. Coleridge / Ceragioli / Nagy / Hour25]

Short is the life which nature has given us: but the memory of a life nobly laid down is eternal.
[ed. Harbottle (1897)]

A brief life has been allotted to us by nature; but the memory of a well-spent life is imperishable.
[tr. Yonge (1903)]

Brief is the life given us by nature; but the memory of life nobly resigned is everlasting.
[tr. Ker (Loeb) (1926)]

One of the men I loved most above all others was Gene Fowler. He once wrote me a letter from London. “What is success?" he asked. “I shall tell you out of the wisdom of my years. It is a toy balloon among children armed with sharp pins."

[Il y a des gens qui ressemblent aux vaudevilles, que tout le monde chante un certain temps, quelques fades et dégoûtants qu’ils soient.]

There are a sort of people may be compar'd to those trivial Songs, which all are in an humour to sing for a certain time, how flat and distasteful soever they may be.
[tr. Davies (1669), ¶64]

Some Men are like Ballads, that every body Sings at one time or other, though they be never so dull and insipid.
[tr. Stanhope (1694), ¶212]

There are people who, like new songs, are in vogue only for a time.
[pub. Donaldson (1783), ¶454; ed. Lepoittevin-Lacroix (1797), ¶202]

There are those, who, like new songs, are favourites only for a time.
[ed. Carvill (1835), ¶491]

Some people resemble ballads, which are only sung for a certain time.
[ed. Gowens (1851), ¶220]

There are people who are like farces, which are praised but for a time (however foolish and distasteful they may be).
[tr. Bund/Friswell (1871), ¶211]

Some people are like rag-time -- their popularity is short-lived.
[tr. Heard (1917), ¶216]

Some people are like popular songs, which are sung only for a season.
[tr. Stevens (1939), ¶211]

Some people are like a popular song, taken up only for a time.
[tr. Kronenberger (1959), ¶211]

Some people are like popular songs that you only sing for a short time.
[tr. Tancock (1959), ¶211]

There are people who resemble certain kinds of popular music, which are sung only for a certain time, however insipid and disgusting they may be, and then forgotten.
[tr. Whichello (2016) ¶211]

The time when thou shalt have forgotten all things, is at hand. And that time also is at hand, when thou thyself shalt be forgotten by all.
[tr. Casaubon (1634), 7.16]

'Twill not be long before you will have forgotten all the World; and in a little time, to be even, all the World will forget you too.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

The time approaches when you shall forget all things, and be forgotten by all.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

The time is speedily approaching, when you will have forgotten every one, and every one will have forgotten you.
[tr. Graves (1792), 7.19]

Near is thy forgetfulness of all things; and near the forgetfulness of thee by all.
[tr. Long (1862)]

It will not be long before you will have forgotten all the world, and in a little time all the world will forget you too.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

Soon you will have forgotten all; soon all will have forgotten you.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

The time is at hand when you shall forget all things, and when all shall forget you.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

A little while and thou wilt have forgotten everything, a little while and everything will have forgotten thee.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

Near at hand is your forgetting all; near, too, all forgetting you.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

Close is the time when you will forget all things; and close, too, thie time when all will forget you.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]

Close to forgetting it all, close to being forgotten.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

Soon you will have forgotten all things: soon all things will have forgotten you.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

Close is the time when you will forget all things; and close, too, the time when all will forget you.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

All things are transitory, and, as it were, but for a day; both those who remember; and the things, and persons remembered.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.
[tr. Long (1862)]

He that does a memorable action, and those that report it, are all but short-lived things.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

Everything is but for a day, remembrancer alike and the remembered.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

All things are for a day, both what remembers and what is remembered.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

Ephemeral all of them, the rememberer as well as the remembered!
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

All is ephemeral, both what remembers and what is remembered.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

All of us are creatures of a day; the rememberer and the remembered alike.
[tr. Staniforth (1964)]

All is ephemeral, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]

Everything transitory -- the knower and the known.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

All is ephemeral, both memory and the object of memory.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

They are all short-lived, both those who remember and the remembered.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

All is ephemeral, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

Everything is transitory, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.
[tr. Gill (2013)]

The time therefore that any man doth live, is but a little, and the place where he liveth, is but a very little corner of the earth, and the greatest fame that can remain of a man after his death, even that is but little, and that too, such as it is whilst it is, is by the succession of silly mortal men preserved, who likewise shall shortly die, and even whiles they live know not what in very deed they themselves are: and much less can know one, who long before is dead and gone.
[tr. Casaubon (1634)]

Life moves in a very narrow Compass; yes, and Men live in a poor Corner of the World too : And the most lasting Fame will stretch but to a sorry Extent. The Passage on't is uneven and craggy, and therefore it can't run far. The frequent Breaks of Succession drop it in the Conveyance : For alas ! poor transitory Mortals, know little either of themselves, or of those who were long before them.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

It is a very little time which each man lives, and in a small corner of the earth; and the longest surviving fame is but short, and this conveyed through a succession of poor mortals, each presently a-dying; men who neither knew themselves, nor the persons long since dead.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

The life of every one, therefore, is evidently a mere point in time. This world indeed in which we live is but a mere corner of the universe, and the most extensive posthumous fame a very trifling affair; and is to pass through a succession of insignificant mortals, who know little of themselves, and much less therefore of those who have long submitted to their destiny.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

Short then is the time which every man lives; and small the nook of the earth where he lives; and short too the longest posthumous fame, and even this only continued by a succession of poor human beings, who will very soon die, and who know not even themselves, much less him who died long ago.
[tr. Long (1862)]

Life moves in a very narrow compass; yes, and men live in a small corner of the world too. And the most lasting fame will stretch but to a sorry extent; for, alas! poor transitory mortals who hand it down know little even of themselves, much less of those who died long before their time.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

Man's life has but a tiny span, tiny as the corner of earth on which he lives, short as fame's longest tenure, handed along the line of short-lived mortals, who do not even know themselves, far less the dead of long ago.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

Short is the time which each of us has to live, and small the corner of the earth he has to live in. Short is the longest posthumous fame, and this preserved through a succession of poor mortals, soon themselves to die; men who knew not themselves, far less those who died long ago.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

Little indeed, then, is a man's life, and little the nook of earth whereon he lives, and little even the longest after-fame, and that too handed on through a succession of manikins, each one of them very soon to be dead, with no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of a man who has died long since.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

Little the life each lives, little the corner of the earth he lives in, little even the longest fame hereafter, and even that dependent on a succession of poor mortals, who will very soon be dead, and have not learnt to know themselves, much less the man who was dead long years ago.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

Human life is thus a little thing, and little too even the fame that endures for the longest, and even that is passed on from one poor mortal to another, all of whom will die in no great while, and who have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of one who has died many long years before.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]

The span we live is small -- small as the corner of the earth in which we live it. Small as even the greatest renown, passed from mouth to mouth by short-lived stick figures, ignorant alike of themselves and those long dead.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

Sure, life is a small thing, and small the cranny of the earth in which we live it: small too even the longest fame thereafter, which is itself subject to a succession of little men who will quickly die, and have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of those long dead.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

Small indeed is the life which each person lives, and tiny is the corner of the earth where he lives. Small too is even the longest after-glory, which is handed off, as in a relay race, to others who will soon be dead, not having know even themselves, let alone someone who died long ago.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

The space of each person’s existence is thus a little thing, and little too is the corner of the earth on which it is lived, and little too even the fame that endures for the longest; and even that is passed on from one poor mortal for another, all of whom will die in no great while, and who have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of one who has died many long years before.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

For each of us, small is our life and small is the corner of earth where it is lived; small too is even the longest fame after death, and this depends on a succession of little human beings who will quickly die and who do not know themselves, let along the one who has died first.
[tr. Gill (2013)]

For nowe, who lookes to beare the bel, his doyngs he muste cull,
At home with hym, and better adde, then he dyd erste out pull.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

He that would write what should twice reading stand,
Must often be upon the mending hand.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]

When you design a lasting Piece, be wise,
Amend, Correct, again, again Revise.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

Would you a reader's just esteem engage?
Correct with frequent care the blotted page.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Spare not erasion, ye that wish your strain,
When once perused, to be perused again.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

You that intend to write what is worthy to be read more than once, blot frequently.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Ofttimes erase, if you intend to write what may prove worth a second reading.
[tr. Millington (1870)]

Oh yes! believe me, you must draw your pen
Not once nor twice but o'er and o'er again
Through what you've written, if you would entice
The man that reads you once to read you twice.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

Often must you turn your pencil to erase, if you hope to write something worth a second reading.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

You’ll often have to erase if you mean to write something
Worth reading twice.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Keep reversing your pencil if you'd like to write a piece
worth reading twice.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

For you must often
reverse your stylus and revise, if you wish
to write things worthy of being reread.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]

If you hope to deserve a second reading you must often employ
the rubber at the end of your pencil.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

If you want to write what’s worth a second reading,
You must often reverse your stylus, and smooth the wax.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

Lest, in air, the mere lightness my distics should toss;
I'd rather sing δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), 12.216]

That the care which I have bestowed upon what I have published may not come to nothing through the smallness of my volumes, let me rather fill up my verses with Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]

Lest his pains should be lost by publishing too short a book, he will fill it up with repetitions, like Homer's well-known verse.
[tr. Paley/Stone (1890)]

That my labor be not lost because published in tiny volumes, rather let there be added Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.
[tr. Ker (1919)]

For fear my fount of poetry run dry
"Him answering" is still my cuckoo-cry.
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), ep. 24]

To keep my little books from dropping dead
of brevity, I could pad with "... then he said."
[tr. Bovie (1970)]

Rather than have my work published in small volumes and so go to waste, let me say "to him in answer."
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]

Velox complains my epigrams are long,
When he writes none: he sings a shorter song.
[tr. Fletcher (c. 1650)]

You say my epigrams, Velox, too long are:
You nothing write; sure yours are shorter far.
[tr. Wright (1663)]

Of my long epigrams, you, Swift, complain;
And nothing write: I laud your shorter strain.
[tr. Elphinston (1782), Book 12, ep. 16, "To Velox, or Swift"]

You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1859)]

You complain, Velox, that I write long epigrams, you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
[tr. Ker (1919)]

"Such lengthy epigrams," you say, "affright one."
True, yours are shorter, for you never write one.
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921)]

Velox, I make my epigrams too long, you snort?
You don't write any: That's making them too short.
[tr. Bovie (1970)]

Velox, you complain that I write long epigrams, and yourself write nothing. Do you make shorter ones?
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]

You say I write lines longer than I ought?
It's true your lines are shorter -- they are nought.
[tr. Wills (2007)]

You say my epigrams are too long.
Yours are shorter.
You write nothing.
[tr. Kennelly (2008), "Nothing"]

Swifty, you moan that I write long epigrams. You aren't writing anything yourself; is that you making shorter ones?
[tr. Nisbet (2015)]

My epigrams are word, you've complained;
But you write nothing. Yours are more restrained.
[tr. O'Connell]

“Much too long” you say, Velox, censorious,
Of my epigrams -- that’s quite uproarious.
You write none. Your brevity is glorious.
[tr. Schmidgall (2001)]

You call my epigrams verbose and lacking in concision
while you yourself write nothing. Wise decision.
[tr. Clark, "Short Enough?"]

My epigrams are wordy, you’ve complained;
But you write nothing. Yours are more restrained.
[tr. Oliver]

By the mouth of the Hypanis, which on the side of Europe, falleth into the Black Sea; Aristotle reports certain Insects to be bred, that live but one day. Such therefore, of these, as dye at two in the Afternoon, dye elderly; but such, as at Sunset, very aged; and the more, if it be on the longest day in Summer. Compare our life, at longest, with Eternity; we shall be found, in a manner, as short-liv'd as are these Insects.
[tr. Wase (1643)]

Aristotle saith, there is a kind of insect, near the river Hypanis;, which runs from a certain part of Europe, into the Pontus, whose life consists but of one day; those that die at the eighth hour, die in full age; those who die when the sun sets, very old, especially when the days are at the longest. Compare our l9ongest age with eternity, and we shall be found as short-lived as those little animals.
[tr. Main (1824)]

At the river Hypanis, which flows into the Euxine, from a part of Europe, certain little insects, Aristotle says, are born to live but a day. Then, one of these, that dies at two afternoon, dies well-advanced in life; but he that dies at sunset, especially about the summer solstice, decrepit. Compare our longest age with eternity; we shall be found in much the same brevity with these little insects.
[tr. Otis (1839)]

On the River Hypanis, which flows from some part of Europe into the Euxine Sea, Aristotle says that there is a certain species of insects that live only a day. One of them that died at the eighth hour of the day would have died at an advanced age; one of them that died at sunset, especially at the summer solstice, would have been decrepit. If we compare our life with eternity, we shall find ourselves of almost as brief a being as those insects.
[tr. Peabody (1886)]

By the river Hypanis which flows into the Black Sea on the European side, Aristotle says some tiny creatures are born which live for one day. So of these one which has died in the eight hour has died at an advanced age; one which has died at sunset is senile, all the more if it dies at the summer solstice. Compare the longest human life with eternity; we shall turn out to be almost as short-lived as these tiny creatures.
[tr. Douglas (1985)]

Aristotle reports that along the river Hypanis, which flows into Pontus from Europe, tiny creatures are born that live but a single day. If they die at the eighth hour they're of an advanced age, if at sunset, they're decrepit -- even more so on the solstice. Measure the longest human lifespan against eternity: you'll find we live about as briefly as those little creatures do.
[tr. Habinek (1996)]

On the river Hypanis which flows from part of Europe into the Black Sea, Aristotle says that little creates are born which live for a single day. One of them, therefore, that has died at the eighth hour of the day has died at an advanced age; one that has died at sunset is senile, and all the more so if this occurs at the summer solstice. Compare our longest lifetime with eternity: we shall be found to be virtually as short-lived as those little creatures.
[tr. Davie (2017)]

Aristotle says that certain little beasts which live for only one day are born near the Hypanis, which flows from part of Europe into the Black Sea. One of these who dies at sunrise dies as a youth; one who dies at noon has already achieved an advanced age; but one who departs at the setting of the sun dies old, especially if it is the solstice. Compare the entirety of our life with eternity, and we will be found to exist for just as short a time as that animal.
[tr. @sentantiq (2019), quoting from Petrarch, Secretum 3.17]

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief ...."

In all thy preceptes be thou briefe that learners quicklye maie
Conceive thy words, and that the same in faithfull mynde to staye.
What s'euer is superfluose, to muche, and oftens tould,
Doth fill the hearer paste the brim that long he cannot hould.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

Be briefe in what thou wouldst command, that so.
The docill mind may soon thy precepts know,
And hold them faithfully; for nothing rests
But flowes out, that ore swelleth in full brests.
[tr. Jonson (1640)]

Let all your precepts be succinct and clear,
That ready wits may comprehend them soon,
And faithfull memories retain them long;
For superfluities are soon forgot.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

Short be the precept, which with ease is gain'd,
By docile minds, and faithfully retain'd.
If in dull length your moral is exprest,
The tedious wisdom overflows the breast.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Short be your precepts, and th' impression strong,
That minds may catch them quick, and hold them long!
The bosom full, and satisfied the taste,
All that runs over will but run to waste.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

In precept be concise: what thus is told
The mind shall grasp with ease, with firmness hold:
While all, that's heap'd superfluous, shocks the taste,
From memory's tablet fades, and runs to waste.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

Whatever precepts you give, be concise; that docile minds may soon comprehend what is said, and faithfully retain it. All superfluous instructions flow from the too full memory.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Let all your precepts be concise, for these
Stick to men's minds, and they are grasped with ease;
But tax too much their memory or their taste,
And all your surplus words run off to waste!
[tr. Martin (1881)]

Whenever you instruct, be brief, so that what is quickly said the mind may readily grasp and faithfully hold: every word in excess flows away from the full mind.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

Whatever the lesson you would convey, be brief, that your hearers may catch quickly what is said and faithfully retain it. Every superfluous word is spilled from the too-full memory.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

But when you instruct, be brief, so the mind can clearly
Perceive and firmly retain. When the mind is full,
Everything else that you say just trickles away
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Be concise in all you teach, so that attentive minds
can quickly see your point and remember it correctly;
everything poured into a full memory will flow back out.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Whichever,
Say it quickly, so he who runs can listen, and hear, and learn,
And be better for learning. A bursting head
Opens like a bladder, and leaks away.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

As for instruction, make it succinct, so the mind
Can quickly seize on what's being taught and hold it;
Every superfluous word spills out of a full mind.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

When you are giving advice, be brief, to allow the learner
quickly to seize the point and then retain it firmly.
If the mind is full, every superfluous word is spilt.
[tr. Rudd (2005)]

When you give instruction, be brief, what’s quickly
Said the spirit grasps easily, faithfully retains:
Everything superfluous flows out of a full mind.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

• "I leave out the parts that people skip." When asked about the popularity of his detective novels. Quoted in William Zinsser, A Family of Readers (1986)
• "Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip." In "Making It Up as I Go Along," AARP Magazine (Jul/Aug 2009).

Life is short. And we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So, be swift to love, and make haste to be kind.
[E.g.]

The more deale of us Poets, both the olde, and younge most parte,
Are ofte begylde by shewe of good, affectinge to muche arte.
I laboure to be verye breife, it makes me verye harde.
I followe flowinge easynes, my style is clearely marde
For lacke of pith and saverye sence, Write loftie, thou shalte swell:
He creepes by the grounde to lowe, afrayde with stormie vayne to mell.
He that in varyinge one pointe muche would bringe forth monstruouse store,
Would make the dolphin dwell in wooddes and in the flud the bore.
The shunning of a faulte is such that now and then it will
Procure a greater faulte, if it be not eschewde by skill.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

The greater part, that boast the Muses fire
Father, and sons right worthy of your Sire,
Are with the likenesse of the truth beguil'd:
My selfe for shortnesse labour, and am stil'd
Obscure. Another striving smooth to runne,
Wants strength, and sinewes, as his spirits were done;
His Muse professing height, and greatnesse, swells;
Downe close by shore, this other creeping steales,
Being over-safe, and fearing of the flaw:
So he that varying still affects to draw
One thing prodigiously, paints in the woods
A Dolphin and a Boare amidst the floods:
The shunning vice, to greater vice doth lead,
If in th'escape an artlesse path we tread.
[tr. Jonson (1640), l. 33ff]

Most Poets fall into the grossest faults,
Deluded by a seeming Excellence:
By striving to be short, they grow Obscure,
And when they would write smoothly they want strength,
Their Spirits sink; while others that affect,
A lofty Stile, swell to a Tympany;
Some timerous wretches start at every blast,
And fearing Tempests, dare not leave the Shore.
Others in love with wild variety,
Draw Boars in Waves, and Dolphins in a Wood;
Thus fear of Erring, joyn'd with want of Skill,
Is a most certain way of Erring still.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

But oft, our greatest errors take their rise
From our best views. I strive to be concise;
I prove obscure. My strength, my fire decays,
When in pursuit of elegance and ease.
Aiming at greatness, some to fustian soar;
Some in cold safety creep along the shore,
Too much afraid of storms; while he, who tries
With ever-varying wonders to surprise,
In the broad forest bids his dolphins play,
And paints his boars disporting in the sea.
Thus, injudicious, while one fault we shun,
Into its opposite extreme we run.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Lov'd sire! lov'd sons, well worthy such a sire!
Most bards are dupes to beauties they admire.
Proud to be brief, for brevity must please,
I grow obscure; the follower of ease
Wants nerve and soul; the lover of sublime
Swells to bombast; while he who dreads that crime,
Too fearful of the whirlwind rising round,
A wretched reptile, creeps along the ground.
The bard, ambitious fancies who displays,
And tortures one poor thought a thousand ways,
Heaps prodigies on prodigies; in woods
Pictures the dolphin, and the boar in floods!
Thus ev'n the fear of faults to faults betrays,
Unless a master-hand conduct the lays.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

The great majority of us poets, father, and youths worthy such a father, are misled by the appearance of right. I labor to be concise, I become obscure: nerves and spirit fail him, that aims at the easy: one, that pretends to be sublime, proves bombastical: he who is too cautious and fearful of the storm, crawls along the ground: he who wants to vary his subject in a marvelous manner, paints the dolphin in the woods, the boar in the sea. The avoiding of an error leads to a fault, if it lack skill.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Ye worthy trio! we poor sons of song
Oft find 'tis fancied right that leads us wrong.
I prove obscure in trying to be terse;
Attempts at ease emasculate my verse;
Who aims at grandeur into bombast falls;
Who fears to stretch his pinions creeps and crawls;
Who hopes by strange variety to please
Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas.
Thus zeal to 'scape from error, if unchecked
By sense of art, creates a new defect.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

We poets, most of us, by the pretence,
Dear friends, are duped of seeming excellence.
We grow obscure in striving to be terse;
Aiming at ease, we enervate our verse;
For grandeur soaring, into bombast fall,
And, dreading that, like merest reptiles crawl;
Whilst he, who seeks his readers to surprise
With common things shown in uncommon wise,
Will make his dolphins through the forests roam.
His wild boars ride upon the billows' foam.
So unskilled writers, in their haste to shun
One fault, are apt into a worse to run.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

The greater part of us poets, O ye Father and Sons worthy of your parent, deceive ourselves under our illusion of what is right. I strive to write briefly, and so write obscurely. Compositions of a smooth nature argue a writer's deficiency both in force and spirit. An attempt at great subjects swells into bombast. A too cautious writer, and dreader of opposition, confines himself to common things. One who desires to amplify a single theme in an extravagant way, puts a dophin innto a wood, and a wild boar into the sea. The avoidance of one error, if unguarded by art, leads to another.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

Most of us poets are misled by insistence upon our idea of what is right. I try to be brief and I become obscure; aiming at smoothness, we lose in vigor and spirit; attempting the sublime, we become turgid. Timid of the storm, we crawl along the ground. Thus if one lacks art, the over careful avoidance of one fault leads to another.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]

Most of us poets, O father and ye sons worthy of the father, deceive ourselves by the semblance of truth. Striving to be brief, I become obscure. Aiming at smoothness, I fail in force and fire. One promising grandeur, is bombastic; another, overcautious and fearful of the gale, creeps along the ground. The man who tries to vary a single subject in monstrous fashion, is like a painter adding a dolphin to the woods, a boar to the waves. Shunning a fault may lead to error, if there be lack of art.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

Most of us poets -- O father, and sons worthy of your father, -- are misled by our idea of what is correct. I try to be terse, and end by being obscure; another strives after smoothness, to the sacrifice of vigour and spirit; a third aims at grandeur, and drops into bombast; a fourth, through an excess of caution and fear of squalls, goes creeping along the ground. He who is bent on lending variety to a theme that is by nature uniform, so as to produce an unnatural effect, is like a man who paints a dolphin in a forest or a wild boar in the waves. If artistic feeling is not there, mere avoidance of a fault leads to some worse defect.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

O father, and sons who deserve a father like yours,
We poets are too often tricked into trying to achieve
A particular kind of perfection: I studiously try
To be brief, and become obscure; I try to be smooth,
And my vigor and force disappear; another assures us
Of something big which turns out to be merely pompous.
Another one crawls on the ground because he's too safe,
Too much afraid of the storm. The poet who strives
To vary his single subject in wonderful ways
Paints dolphins in woods and foaming boars on the waves.
Avoiding mistakes, if awkwardly done, leads to an error.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Most poets, father and young men deserving such a father,
go wrong in trying to be right: I struggle for concision,
I wind up being obscure; others try for smoothness
and lose strength, or for sublimit, and get gas.
One poet, too cautious, fears storms and craws along,
the other craves bizarre variety in a single subject
and paints a dolphin in a forest, a boar among the waves.
Fear of criticism leads to faults if we lack art.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Most poets, leaders and led,
Chase a will-o’-the-wisp of abstract Right.
Thus:
I aim
at concision,
I hit
on darkness.
I aim to be smooth, my lines go slack.
The eloquent idealist rants and raves,
The timid, the gutless, crawl like beetles,
Seekers after novelty hang dolphins in trees,
Float a boar in the sea:
O rare effects!
O marvelous.
Ugh.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

Father and worthy sons, we poets often
Know what we're aiming at, and often we miss.
I try my best to be terse, and I'm obscure;
I try for mellifluous smoothness, smooth as can be,
And the line comes out as spineless as a worm;
One poet, aiming for grandeur, booms and blusters;
Another one, scared, creeps his way under the storm;
And another, desiring to vary his single theme
In wonderful ways, produces not wonders but monsters --
Dolphins up in the trees, pigs in the ocean.
If you don't know what you're doing you can go wrong
Just out of trying to do your best to do right.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

Poets in the main (I’m speaking to a father and his excellent sons)
are baffled by the outer form of what’s right. I strive to be brief,
and become obscure; I try for smoothness, and instantly lose
muscle and spirit; to aim at grandeur invites inflation;
excessive caution or fear of the wind induces groveling.
The man who brings in marvels to vary a simple theme
is painting a dolphin among the trees, a boar in the billows.
Avoiding a fault will lead to error if art is missing.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

Most poets (dear sir, and you sons worthy of your sire),
Are beguiled by accepted form. I try to be brief
And become obscure: aiming at smoothness I fail
In strength and spirit: claiming grandeur he’s turgid:
Too cautious, fearing the blast, he crawls on the ground:
But the man who wants to distort something unnaturally
Paints a dolphin among the trees, a boar in the waves.
Avoiding faults leads to error, if art is lacking.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

The other day James Roosevelt opened a talk he made at Hollywood by saying: “My father gave me these hints on speechmaking. Be sincere … be brief … be seated.”
[Washington Post (1940-01-13)]