Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.

The tongue is the worst part of a bad servant.

No one every suddenly became depraved.

It is a wretched thing to rest upon the fame of others, lest, the supporting pillar being removed, the superstructure should collapse in ruin.

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.

For the short-lived bloom and contracted span of brief and wretched life is fast fleeting away! While we are drinking and calling for garlands, ointments, and women, old age steals swiftly on with noiseless step.

Vice can deceive under the guise and shadow of virtue.