Believe it, future generations.

Let this be your wall of brass, to have nothing on your conscience, no guilt to make you turn pale.

Happy he who far from business, like the primitive are of mortals, cultivates with his own oxen the fields of his fathers, free from all anxieties of gain.

He appears mad indeed but to a few, because the majority is infected with the same disease.

The poets aim is either to profit or to please, or to blend in one the delightful and the useful. Whatever the lesson you would convey, be brief, that your hearers may catch quickly what is said and faithfully retain it. Every superfluous word is spilled from the too-full memory.

He has hay upon his horn. [He is a mischievous person.]

God can change the lowest to the highest, abase the proud, and raise the humble.