There are men who gain from their wealth only the fear of losing it.
Gold like the sun, which melts wax, but hardens clay, expands great souls.
Rumor, once started, rushes on like a river, until it mingles with, and is lost in the sea.
There is even the dignity of vice.
To be ungrateful is to be unnatural. The head may be thus guilty, not the heart.
Man spends his life in reasoning on the past, in complaining of the present, in fearing future.