How dark are all the ways of god to man!
Ten thousand men possess ten thousand hopes.
If a man rejoice not in his drinking, he is mad; for in drinking it's possible ... to fondle breasts, and to caress well tended locks, and there is dancing withal, and oblivion of woe.
I hate it in friends when they come too late to help.
That glittering hope is immemorial and beckons many men to their undoing.
Do we, holding that the gods exist, deceive ourselves with insubstantial dreams and lies, while random careless chance and change alone control the world?