Trust dies but mistrust blossoms.

There is no sense in crying over spilt milk. Why bewail what is done and cannot be recalled?

The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.

Alas, how quickly the gratitude owed to the dead flows off, how quick to be proved a deceiver.

But whoever gives birth to useless children, what would you say of him except that he has bred sorrows for himself, and furnishes laughter for his enemies.

It is better not to live at all than to live disgraced.

Not even Ares battles against necessity.