He who is upright in his way of life and free from sin.
What impropriety or limit can there be in our grief for a man so beloved?.
Where there are many beauties in a poem I shall not cavil at a few faults proceeding either from negligence or from the imperfection of our nature.
The same (hated) man will be loved after he's dead. How quickly we forget.
The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.
Enjoy the present day, trust the least possible to the future.