Ille mi par esse deo videtur, ille, si fas est, superare divos, qui sedens adversus identidem te spectat et audit dulce ridentem, misero quod omnes eripit sensus mihi, nam simul te, Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super mi vocis in ore, lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus flamma demanat, sonitu suopte tinitant aures, gemina teguntur lumina nocte. Otium, Catulle, tibi molestum est. Otio exsultas nimiumque gestis. Otium et reges prius et beatas perdidit urbes. (Catulle)

He seems like a god to me, he seems superior to gods, if one may say so, he, who is always sitting opposite you, seeing and hearing your sweet laughter, which rips away all my senses, poor me! and when I at the same time see you, Lesbia there is nothing left of my voice, my tongue stiffens, a thin fire rushes through my limbs, my ears ring from their own sound, night covers both my eyes. Idleness, Catulle, harms you. Idleness makes you far too eager. Before, idleness has edestroyed both kings and rich cities.