There is nothing like the sight of an old enemy down on his luck.
If one must do a wrong, it's best to do it pursuing power-otherwise, let's have virtue.
The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable, Is that which rages in the place of dearest love.
Since luck's a nine days' wonder, wait their end.
The way of God is complex, he is hard for us to predict. He moves the pieces and they come somehow into a kind of order.
Do we, holding that the gods exist, deceive ourselves with insubstantial dreams and lies, while random careless chance and change alone control the world?