We are free to yield to truth.

Not even for an hour can you bear to be alone, nor can you advantageously apply your leisure time, but you endeavor, a fugitive and wanderer, to escape from yourself, now vainly seeking to banish remorse by wine, and now by sleep; but the gloomy companion presses on you, and pursues you as you fly.

As many men as there are existing, so many are their different pursuits.

The muse does not allow the praise-de-serving here to die: she enthrones him in the heavens.

Death is the last limit of all things.

He will always be a slave who does not know how to live upon a little.

Let the fictitious sources of pleasure be as near as possible to the true.