Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque revenit. You can drive nature out with a pitchfork, she will nevertheless come back.
I shall not altogether die.
Oh! thou who are greatly mad, deign to spare me who am less mad.
Fortune, delighting in her cruel task, and playing her wanton game untiringly, is ever shifting her uncertain favours.
Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.
The covetous are always in want.