The wolf dreads the pitfall, the hawk suspects the snare, and the kite the covered hook.
Those who cross the sea, change sky, but not soul.
Let those who drink not, but austerely dine, dry up in law; the Muses smell of wine.
He tosses aside his paint-pots and his words a foot and a half long.
Books have their destinies.
When a man is pleased with the lot of others, he is dissatisfied with his own, as a matter of course.