I have to submit to much in order to pacify the touchy tribe of poets.
Fortune makes a fool of those she favors too much.
Capture the day, put minimum trust on tomorrow.
What with your friend you nobly share, At least you rescue from your heir.
The cautious wolf fears the pit, the hawk regards with suspicion the snare laid for her, and the fish the hook in its concealment.
There is a proper measure in all things, certain limits beyond which and short of which right is not to be found. Who so cultivates the golden mean avoids the poverty of a hovel and the envy of a palace.