There is nothing like the sight of an old enemy down on his luck.

It was my tongue that swore; my heart is unsworn.

This is slavery, not to speak one's thought.

The man whom heaven helps has friends enough.

That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation; since our fortune's course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all the time.

Doth some one say that there be gods above? There are not; no, there are not. Let no fool, Led by the old false fable, thus deceive you. Look at the facts themselves, yielding my words, No undue credence: for I say that kings kill, rob, break oaths, lay cities waste by fraud, And doing thus are happier than those, Who live calm pious lives day after day. All divinity is built-up from our good and evil luck.

In misfortune, which friend remains a friend?