Sleep, thou patron of mankind, Great physician of the mind Who does nor pain nor sorrow know, Sweetest balm of every woe.
Ignorant men do not know what good they hold in their hands until they've flung it away.
If it were possible to heal sorrow by weeping and to raise the dead with tears, gold were less prized than grief.
Love, you mock us for your sport.
The end excuses any evil.
A man who takes pleasure in speaking continuously fools himself in thinking he is not unpleasant to those around him.