Nos numeros sumus et fruges consumere nati. We are but ciphers, born to consume earth's fruits.

Not gods, nor men, nor even booksellers have put up with poets' being second-rate.

I shall not wholly die, and a great part of me will escape the grave.

Dispel the cold, bounteously replenishing the hearth with logs.

He tells old wives' tales much to the point.

If you wish me to weep, you yourself must first feel grief.

In the word of no master am I bound to believe.