Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
Oh! thou who are greatly mad, deign to spare me who am less mad.
The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.
Not to be lost in idle admiration is the only sure means of making and preserving happiness.
A corrupt judge does not carefully search for the truth.
In adversity, remember to keep an even mind.