The grave is a crucible where memory is purified; we only remember a dead friend by those qualities which make him regretted.
Rage is a short-lived fury.
The politics of courtiers resemble their shadows; they cringe and turn with the sun of the day.
The hatred we bear our enemies injures their happiness less than our own.
It is not what we have but what we enjoy that constitutes our abundance.
The true worth of a soul is revealed as much by the motive it attributes to the actions of others as by its own deeds.