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 lover fears all that he believes.
Time, motion and wine cause sleep.
Add little to little and there will be a big pile.
One does not yearn for that which is easily acquired.
We are slow to believe that which if believed would hurt our feelings.