No man is quick enough to enjoy life.
For wealth's now given to none but to the rich.
You crystal break, for fear of breaking it: Careless and careful hands like faults commit.
You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
To be able to enjoy one's past life is to live twice.
Your seventh wife, Phileros, is now being buried in your field. No man's field brings him greater profit than yours, Phileros.