The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she who lives in fear will ever be a slave.
Let your poem be kept nine years.
Capture your reader, let him not depart, from dull beginnings that refuse to start
Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow's span to this day's sum?
My liver swells with bile difficult to repress.
We hate merit while it is with us; when taken away from our gaze, we long for it jealously.