Men hate the haughty of heart who will not be the friend of every man.

That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation; since our fortune's course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all the time.

None can hold fortune still and make it last.

For no mortal ever attains to blessedness. One may be luckier than another when wealth flows his way, but blessed never.

A slave is he who cannot speak his thoughts.

If god is truly god, he is perfect, lacking nothing.

One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives.