Fools through false shame, conceal their open wounds.
That man scorches with his brightness, who overpowers inferior capacities, yet he shall be revered when dead.
The cook cares not a bit for toil, toil, if the fowl be plump and fat
Care clings to wealth: the thirst for more Grows as our fortunes grow.
He will be loved when dead, who was envied when he was living.
Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.