In Rome you long for the country. In the country you praise to the skies the distant town.

They change their sky, not their mind, who cross the sea. A busy idleness possesses us: we seek a happy life, with ships and carriages: the object of our search is present with us.

One night awaits all, and death's path must be trodden once and for all.

In the midst of hopes and cares, of apprehensions and of disquietude, regard every day that dawns upon you as if it was to be your last; then super-added hours, to the enjoyment of which you had not looked forward, will prove an acceptable boon.

The one who cannot restrain their anger will wish undone, what their temper and irritation prompted them to do.

Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.

The earth opens impartially her bosom to receive the beggar and the prince.