Necessity takes impartially the highest and the lowest.

It is a sweet and seemly thing to die for one's country.

The trainer trains the docile horse to turn, with his sensitive neck, whichever way the rider indicates.

He will often have to scratch his head, and bite his nails to the quick. [To succeed he will have to puzzle his brains and work hard.]

The Cadiz tribe, not used to bearing our yoke.

Why do you hasten to remove anything which hurts your eye, while if something affects your soul you postpone the cure until next year?

Let your poem be kept nine years.