The sleep of a sick man has keen eyes. It is a sleep unsleeping.
There is a point beyond which even justice becomes unjust.
Each say following another, either hastening or putting off our death--what pleasure does it bring? I count that man worthless whois cheered by empty hopes. No, a noble man must either live or die well.
I was born to join in love, not hate - that is my nature.
It made our hair stand up in panic fear.
To those who err in judgment, not in will, anger is gentle.