At Rome I love Tibur; then, like a weathercock, at Tibur Rome.

One night awaits all, and death's path must be trodden once and for all.

Mingle some brief folly with wisdom now: To be foolish is sweet at times.

Glory drags all men along, low as well as high, bound captive at the wheels of her glittering car.

While we're talking, envious time is fleeing: pluck the day, put no trust in the future

Luck cannot change birth.

Be smart, drink your wine.