Unless the gods deceive my mind , That man is forging fetters for himself.

To many men well-fitting doors are not set on their tongues.

Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season, When passion has usurp'd the throne of reason, Have ruin'd many. Passion is unjust, And for an idle, transitory gust Of gratified revenge, dooms us to pay With long repentance at a later day.

He who mistrusts most should be trusted least.

Adopt the character of the twisting octopus, which takes on the appearance of the nearby rock . Now follow in this direction, now turn a different hue.

Surfeit begets insolence, when prosperity comes to a bad man.

Bright youth passes swiftly as a thought.