Whatever guilt is perpetrated by some evil prompting, is grievous to the author of the crime. This is the first punishment of guilt that no one who is guilty is acquitted at the judgment seat of his own conscience.

Many suffer from the incurable disease of writing, and it becomes chronic in their sick minds.

No one ever suddenly became depraved.

When your armour is on, it is too late to retreat.

So much greater is our thirst for glory than for virtue.

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.

Remorse is the fruit of crime.