You will not rightly call him a happy man who possesses much; he more rightly earns the name of happy who is skilled in wisely using the gifts of the gods, and in suffering hard poverty, and who fears disgrace as worse than death.

We are deceived by the appearance of right.

Fortune, delighting in her cruel task, and playing her wanton game untiringly, is ever shifting her uncertain favours.

Little folks become their little fate.

Happy is the man to whom nature has given a sufficiency with even a sparing hand.

What wonders does not wine! It discloses secrets; ratifies and confirms our hopes; thrusts the coward forth to battle; eases the anxious mind of its burden; instructs in arts. Whom has not a cheerful glass made eloquent! Whom not quite free and easy from pinching poverty!

There is moderation in everything.