Silence is true wisdom's best reply.

I loathe a friend whose gratitude grows old, a friend who takes his friend's prosperity but will not voyage with him in his grief

To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter.

Toil, says the proverb, is the sire of fame.

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.

Delight in splendor is No more than happiness with little: for both Have their appeal.

I envy that man who passes through life safely, to the world and fame unknown.