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.
Honesty's praised, then left to freeze.
The grape becomes tinted from the grape it comes in contact with.
Remote though your farm may be, It's something to be the lord of one green lizard-and free.
One globe seemed all too small for the youthful Alexander.
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.