Everyone is ready to speak ill of a stranger.
They who prosper take on airs of vanity.
Who, except the gods, can live time through forever without any pain?
O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me: of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.
Memory is the mother of all wisdom.
It is always in season for old men to learn.