Some things are good, some middling, more bad.
The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
One genius has made many clever artists.
Conceal a flaw, and the world will imagine the worst.
In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a writeched life