A poem is like a painting.
My age, my inclinations, are no longer what they were.
Humble things become the humble.
Many brave men lived before Agamemnon; but, all unwept and unknown, are lost in the distant night, since they are without a divine poet (to chronicle their deeds).
He who is greedy is always in want.
Poverty urges us to do and suffer anything that we may escape from it, and so leads us away from virtue.