Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals: we storm heaven itself in our folly.
Designedly God covers in dark night the issue of futurity.
The common people are but ill judges of a man's merits; they are slaves to fame, and their eyes are dazzled with the pomp of titles and large retinue. No wonder, then, that they bestow their honors on those who least deserve them.
A leech that will not quit the skin until sated with blood.
Who then is sane? He who is not a fool.
The snow has at last melted, the fields regain their herbage, and the trees their leaves.