It is expedient that there should be gods, and, since it is expedient, let us believe that gods exist.
Love that is fed by jealousy dies hard.
Burdens become light when cheerfully borne.
Love's dominion, like a kings, admits of no partition.
Art lies in concealing art.
Devouring Time and envious Age, all things yield to you; and with lingering death you destroy, step by step, with venomed tooth whatever you attack.