If our inward griefs were seen written on our brow, how many would be pitied who are now envied! [It., Se a ciascun l'interno affanno Si leggesse in fronte scritto, Quanti mai, che invidia fanno, Ci farebbero pieta!].

An old warrior is never in haste to strike the blow.

It is the just decree of Heaven that a traitor never sees his danger till his ruin is at hand.

How full of error is the judgment of mankind! They wonder at results when they are ignorant of the reasons

The eye that gazes upon the sun sees not the orb it looks upon, confounded by the excess of its brightness.

If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity?

We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is a rock; the whole life is a wide ocean. Reason is the pilot to guide us, but often allows itself to be led astray by the storms of pride.