There is no such thing as pure, unalloyed pleasure; some bitter ever mingles with the sweet.

I could not possibly count the gold-digging ruses of women, Not if I had ten mouths, not if I had ten tongues.

Spare the soul that feels a deadly wound.

Pluck with quick hand the fruit that passes.

To wish is of little account; to succeed you must earnestly desire; and this desire must shorten thy sleep.

Meet the disorder in the outset, the medicine may be too late, when the disease has gained ground through delay.

He whom all hate all wish to see destroyed.