No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.

Givers of great dinners know few enemies.

It is easy in adversity to despise death; he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.

Red-haired, black-lipped, club-footed, and blink-eyed; if you're a good man, you're a wonder!

You admire, Vacerra, only the poets of old and praise only those who are dead. Pardon me, I beseech you, Vacerra, if I think death too high a price to pay for your praise.

Fortune gives many too much, but none enough.

Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.