Art lies by its own artifice.
Happy the man who can count his sufferings.
Wine gives courage and makes men more apt for passion.
That fair face will as years roll on lose its beauty, and old age will bring its wrinkles to the brow.
Time itself flows on with constant motion, just like a river: for no more than a river can the fleeting hour stand still. As wave is driven on by wave, and, itself pursued, pursues the one before, so the moments of time at once flee and follow, and are ever new.
A thousand ills require a thousand cures.