Let each man pass his days in that endeavor wherein his gift is greatest.
Fickleness has always befriended the beautiful.
No rival will steal away my sure love; that glory will be my gray hair.
There is something beyond the grave; death does not end all, and the pale ghost escapes from the vanquished pyre.
To each man at his birth nature has given some fault.
Always in absent lovers love's tide flows stronger.