Account no man happy till he dies.
A wise fellow who is also worthless always charms the rabble.
Both to the rich and poor, wine is the happy antidote for sorrow.
Oh, trebly blest the placid lot of those whose hearth foundations are in pure love laid, where husband's breast with tempered ardor glows, and wife, oft mother, is in heart a maid!
There is safety in numbers.
You were a stranger to sorrow: therefore Fate has cursed you.