There is nothing in the whole world which abides. All things are in a state of ebb and flow, and every shadow passes away. Even time itself, like a river, is constantly gliding away .

Love is a credulous thing.

There is a certain kind of pleasure in weeping.

Envy feeds on the living, after death it rests, then the honor of a man protects him.

You will be melancholy, if you are solitary.

It is the poor man who'll ever count his flock.

The good of other times let people state; I think it lucky I was born so late.