The drunkard is convicted by his praises of wine.
Poetry is like painting: one piece takes your fancy if you stand close to it, another if you keep at some distance.
Nos numeros sumus et fruges consumere nati. We are but ciphers, born to consume earth's fruits.
A leech that will not quit the skin until sated with blood.
Those who covet much suffer from the want.
As a neighboring funeral terrifies sick misers, and fear obliges them to have some regard for themselves; so, the disgrace of others will often deter tender minds from vice.