If you give up your quiet life, the bow of Cupid will lose its power.
Beauty is a frail good.
Today is truly the Golden Age: gold buys hornor, gold procures love
Love is a thing full of anxious fears.
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.
A wealthy traveller fears an ambush, while one with empty pockets journeys on in safety.