Having advanced to the limit of boldness, child, you have stumbled against the lofty pedestal of Justice.

A cunning fellow is man, inventive beyond all expectation, he reaches sometimes evil and sometimes good

Whoe'er imagines prudence all his own, Or deems that he hath powers to speak and judge Such as none other hath, when they are known, They are found shallow.

It is a painful thing to look at your own trouble and know that you yourself and no one else has made it.

Oh child, may you be happier than your father, but in all other respects alike. And then you would not be bad.

Even a poor man can receive honors.

When men have killed joy, I do not believe they still live.