It is difficult to speak of what is common in a way of your own.
Plant no other tree before the vine.
In Rome you long for the country. In the country you praise to the skies the distant town.
Pale death with an impartial foot knocks at the hovels of the poor and the palaces of king.
Everything, virtue, glory, honor, things human and divine, all are slaves to riches.
The gods have given you wealth and the means of enjoying it.