Lust, forgetful of future suffering, hurries us along the forbidden path.
Luxury, that alluring pest with fair forehead, which, yielding always to the will of the body, throws a deadening influence over the senses, and weakens the limbs more than the drugs of Circe's cup.
The best manners are stained by haughtiness.
Death renders all equal.
Nothing can allay the rage of biting envy.
Liberty begets license.