What has this unfeeling age of ours left untried, what wickedness has it shunned?

O citizens, first acquire wealth; you can practice virtue afterward.

Who after wine, talks of wars hardships or of poverty.

The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

There is a medium in all things. There are certain limits beyond, or within which, that which is right cannot exist.

Better wilt thou live...by neither always pressing out to sea nor too closely hugging the dangerous shore in cautious fear of storms.