Oh, what a vileness human beauty is; corroding, corrupting everything it touches.
I think it makes small difference to the dead, if they are buried in the tokens of luxury. All that is an empty glorification left for those who live.
Had I succeeded well, I had been reckoned amongst the wise; our minds are so disposed to judge from the event.
In misfortune, which friend remains a friend?
Often a noble face hides filthy ways.
Happiness is brief. It will not stay. God batters at its sails.