This was my prayer: an adequate portion of land with a garden and a spring of water and a small wood to complete the picture.
In labouring to be brief, I become obscure.
On day is pressed on by another.
Wise were the kings who never chose a friend till with full cups they had unmasked his soul, and seen the bottom of his deepest thoughts.
I teach that all men are mad.
Each day that fate adds to your life, put down as so much gain.