Mountains will go into labour, and a silly little mouse will be born.
The snow has at last melted, the fields regain their herbage, and the trees their leaves.
Anger is a short madness.
Ah Fortune, what god is more cruel to us than thou! How thou delightest ever to make sport of human life!
Silver is of less value than gold, gold than virtue.
Be this our wall of brass, to be conscious of having done no evil, and to grow pale at no accusation.