O virtue, I have followed you through life, and find you at last but a shade.

The gods have sent medicines for the venom of serpents, but there is no medicine for a bad woman. She is more noxious than the viper, or than fire itself.

Dead men have no victory.

Lucky that man whose children make his happiness in life and not his grief, the anguished disappointment of his hopes.

Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end. All is change; all yields its place and goes; to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man. The coward despairs.

There is no benefit in the gifts of a bad man.

The mob gets out of hand, runs wild, worse than raging fire, while the man who stands apart is called a coward.