A man is sorry to be honest for nothing.

Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?

I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth.

So long as you are secure you will count many friends; if your life becomes clouded you will be alone.

This also, that I live, I consider a gift of God.

How little you know about the age you live in if you think that honey is sweeter than cash in hand

That you may be beloved, be amiable.