What we learn only through the ears makes less impression upon our minds than what is presented to the trustworthy eye.
The man is either crazy or he is a poet.
He who sings the praises of his boyhood's days.
Gold will be slave or master.
Fortune, delighting in her cruel task, and playing her wanton game untiringly, is ever shifting her uncertain favours.
He will always be a slave who does not know how to live upon a little.