Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.
Autumn is the harvest of greedy death.
Those who desire to become rich, desire it at once.
Drooping along the ground the vine misses its widowed elm.
For the gods, instead of what is most pleasing, will give what is most proper. Man is dearer to them than he is to himself.
Of the woes Of unhappy poverty, none is more difficult to bear Than that it heaps men with ridicule.