Cowards' weapons neither cut nor pierce.

It is by no means a fact that death is the worst of all evils; when it comes it is an alleviation to mortals who are worn out with sufferings.

If every man's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?

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.

Fortune is the best school of courage when she is fraught with anger, in the same way as winds and tempests are the school of the sailorboy.

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

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?