The brief span of our poor unhappy life to its final hour Is hastening on; and while we drink and call for gay wreaths, Perfumes, and young girls, old age creeps upon us, unperceived.

Drooping along the ground the vine misses its widowed elm.

Revenge is always the weak pleasure of a little and narrow mind.

Conscience, the executioner, shaking her secret scourge.

Your prayer must be for a healthy mind in a sound body. Ask for a brave soul that has no fear of death, deems length of life the least of nature's gifts and is able to bear any kind of sufferings, knows neither wrath nor desire and believes the woes and hard labors of Hercules better than the loves and feasts and downy cushions of Sardanapalus. Reveal what you are able to give yourself; the only path to a life of tranquility lies through virtue.

Two things only the people actually desire: bread and circuses.

We are too quick to imitate depraved examples.