Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love. Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus
CatullusRead
To whom do I give my new elegant little book? Cui dono lepidum novum libellum?
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote expresses the writer's desire to share his work with someone special, highlighting the importance of relationships in creativity.
Catullus poses a rhetorical question about whom he should give his newly crafted and elegant book. This reflects the intrinsic relationship between the act of creation and the desire for appreciation, suggesting that the value of art is often enhanced when shared with a loved one or a trusted friend. It also indicates the yearning for connection and acknowledgment in the creative process.
Themes
SharingLiteratureRelationshipsCreativityAppreciation
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about the importance of community in the arts.
More from Catullus
All quotes βGive me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then a thousand more.
CatullusRead
It is difficult to suddenly give up a long love. Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem
CatullusRead
Godlike the man who_x000D_ sits at her side, who_x000D_ watches and catches_x000D_ that laughter_x000D_ which (softly) tears me_x000D_ to tatters: nothing is left of me, each time_x000D_ I see her.
CatullusRead
Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale
CatullusRead
My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.
CatullusRead
Similar quotes
A book is sent out into the world, and there is no way of fully anticipating the responses it will elicit. Consider the responses called forth by the Bible, Homer, Shakespeare - let alone contemporary poetry or a modern novel.
Chaim PotokRead
He was the man who of all modern, and perhaps ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. . . . He was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of books to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. . . . He is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit degenerating in to clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he is always great, when some occasion is presented to him.
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Books and marriage go ill together.
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What is wonderful about great literature is that it transforms the man who reads it towards the condition of the man who wrote.
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Literary men are . . . a perpetual priesthood.
John KeatsRead