Honor is but an empty bubble.
All empire is no more than power in trust.
Happy the man, and happy he alone, he, who can call today his own.
Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.
They think too little who talk too much.
I am devilishly afraid, that's certain; but ... I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.