It is only the beard that reminds you of the one when you look at the other.

Hadrian might be very glad if he were like the prefect's guest." "Yes, he is handsomer--how shall I say it--more like the gods than that cold marble figure," Euphorion declared.

"A grand noble, he is no doubt, but still an artist too; I wonder whether he could be induced by Pontius or Papias or Aristeas or one of the great painters to take the part of Calchas the soothsayer in our group at the festival?
He would perform it in quite another way than that dry stick Philemon the ivory carver.

Hand me my lute; I have already forgotten again the beginning of the last verse.

Oh! my wretched memory! Thank you." Euphorion loudly struck the strings and sang in a voice that was still tolerably sweet and very well trained: "'Sabina hail! Oh Sabina!--Hail; victorious hail to the conquering goddess Sabina!' If only Pollux were here he would remind me of the right words.