Children have a master to teach them, grown-ups have the poets.

By words the mind is winged.

No man is really honest; none of us is above the influence of gain.

Weak mortals, chained to the earth, creatures of clay as frail as the foliage of the woods, you unfortunate race, whose life is but darkness, as unreal as a shadow, the illusion of a dream.

Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master, At which the audience never fail to laugh?

Meton (astronomer in 5th century BC): With the straight ruler I set to work To make the circle four-cornered .

This is what extremely grieves us, that a man who never fought Should contrive our fees to pilfer, on who for his native land Never to this day had oar, or lance, or blister in his hand.