The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself the singer of its own dirge.
Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.
Tis easy to write epigrams nicely, but to write a book is hard.
I believe that man to be wretched whom none can please.
If you have any shame, forbear to pluck the beard of a dead lion.
You should not fear, nor yet should you wish for your last day.