He has hay upon his horn. [He is a mischievous person.]

Posterity, thinned by the crime of its ancestors, shall hear of those battles.

That corner of the world smiles for me more than anywhere else.

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

How slight and insignificant is the thing which casts down or restores a mind greedy for praise.

The ox longs for the gaudy trappings of the horse; the lazy pack-horse would fain plough. [We envy the position of others, dissatisfied with our own.]

Be smart, drink your wine.