The man from whom the joys of life have departed is living no more, but should be counted with the dead.
We must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day had been.
A man who takes pleasure in speaking continuously fools himself in thinking he is not unpleasant to those around him.
Not even old age knows how to love death.
Look how men live, always precariously balanced between good and bad fortune.
What greater wound is there than a false friend?