I shall not wholly die, and a great part of me will escape the grave.
All things considered, nothing is beautiful.
Posterity, thinned by the crime of its ancestors, shall hear of those battles.
As riches grow, care follows, and a thirst For more and more.
Death's dark way Must needs be trodden once, however we pause.
Mediocrity is not allowed to poets, either by the gods or men.