Though your threshing floor grind a hundred thousand bushels of corn, not for that reason will your stomach hold more than mine.

Better one thorn pluck'd out than all remain.

Nos numeros sumus et fruges consumere nati. We are but ciphers, born to consume earth's fruits.

I beseech you to treasure up in your hearts these my parting words: Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.

You will not rightly call him a happy man who possesses much; he more rightly earns the name of happy who is skilled in wisely using the gifts of the gods, and in suffering hard poverty, and who fears disgrace as worse than death.

There is no such thing as perfect happiness.

What has not wasting time impaired?