I have to submit to much in order to pacify the touchy tribe of poets.
How slight and insignificant is the thing which casts down or restores a mind greedy for praise.
In Rome you long for the country. In the country you praise to the skies the distant town.
You have played enough; you have eaten and drunk enough. Now it is time for you to depart.
It is hard! But what can not be removed, becomes lighter through patience.
The covetous man is ever in want.