No one is content with his own lot.

I prayed only for a small piece of land, a garden, an ever-flowing spring, and bit of woods.

Learned or unlearned we all must be scribbling.

Poverty urges us to do and suffer anything that we may escape from it, and so leads us away from virtue.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own: he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine, the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

The envious man grows lean at the success of his neighbor.

He who is upright in his way of life and free from sin.