A wise fellow who is also worthless always charms the rabble.
It was my tongue that swore; my heart is unsworn.
Toil, says the proverb, is the sire of fame.
May he die with no joy at his end, The man who won't be troubled To unlock the keys of his heart and make a friend.
Your very silence shows you agree.
Of mortals there is no one who is happy. If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps luckier than one's neighbor, but still not happy.