Nothing is too high for the daring of mortals: we storm heaven itself in our folly.
Noble descent and worth, unless united with wealth, are esteemed no more than seaweed.
The short span of life forbids us to spin out hope to any length. Soon will night be upon you, and the fabled Shades, and the shadowy Plutonian home.
Who's started has half finished.
In Rome you long for the country. In the country you praise to the skies the distant town.
Life grants nothing to us mortals without hard work.