The sleep of a sick man has keen eyes. It is a sleep unsleeping.
Dark, dark! The horror of darkness, like a shroud, wraps me and bears me on through mist and cloud.
Profit is sweet, even if it comes from deception.
Those griefs smart most which are seen to be of our own choice.
What greater wound is there than a false friend?
The shimmering night does not stay for mortals, not misfortunes, nor wealth, but in a moment it is gone, and to the turn of another comes joy and loss.