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

Make all fair allowance for the mistakes of youth.

Conscience, the executioner, shaking her secret scourge.

An excess of hoarded wealth is the death of many.

Peace visits not the guilty mind.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? - Who will watch the watchers?

Of the woes Of unhappy poverty, none is more difficult to bear Than that it heaps men with ridicule.