He who studies to imitate the poet Pindar, O Julius, relies on artificial wings fastened on with wax, and is sure to give his name to a glassy sea.

Unless the vessel be pure, everything which is poured into it will turn sour.

In hard times, no less than in prosperity, preserve equanimity.

We hate merit while it is with us; when taken away from our gaze, we long for it jealously.

Limbs of a dismembered poet.

All else-valor, a good name, glory, everything in heaven and earth-is secondary to the charm of riches.

When your throat is parched with thirst, do you desire a cup of gold?