Poverty possesses this disease; through want it teaches a man evil.

Oh, what a vileness human beauty is; corroding, corrupting everything it touches.

The company of just and righteous men is better than wealth and a rich estate.

In goodness there are all kinds of wisdom.

He is life's liberating force. He is release of limbs and communion through dance. He is laughter, and music in flutes. He is repose from all cares -- he is sleep! When his blood bursts from the grape and flows across tables laid in his honor to fuse with our blood, he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows of ivy-cool sleep.

It's the wise man who stays home when he's drunk.

Whom the gods destroy, they first make mad.