Death alone discloses how insignificant are the puny bodies of men.
Autumn is the harvest of greedy death.
The short bloom of our brief and narrow life flies fast away. While we are calling for flowers and wine and women, old age is upon us.
The face, not the woman is the attraction.
He will be the last to discover the disgrace of his house.
They whose sole bliss is eating can give but that one brutish reason why they live.