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.
You crystal break, for fear of breaking it: Careless and careful hands like faults commit.
The face that cannot smile is never fair.
In adversity it is easy to despise life; he is truly brave who can endure a writeched life
Those they praise, but they read the others.
You ask what a nice girl will do? She won't give an inch, but she won't say no.