The smell of money is good, come whence it may. [Alluding to Vespasian's tax on ordure.]
Rarely do we meet in one combined, a beauteous body and a virtuous mind.
No god is absent where prudence dwells.
Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.
There will he nothing more that posterity can add to our immoral habits; our descendants must have the same desires and act the same follies as their sires. Every vice has reached its zenith.
Who is to guard the guards themselves?