It is but a poor establishment where there are not many superfluous things which the owner knows not of, and which go to the thieves.
No poems can please long or live that are written by water drinkers.
Death is the ultimate boundary of human matters.
Riches with their wicked inducements increase; nevertheless, avarice is never satisfied.
He will be beloved when he is no more.
Blind self-love, vanity, lifting aloft her empty head, and indiscretion, prodigal of secrets more transparent than glass, follow close behind.