Unless the gods deceive my mind , That man is forging fetters for himself.
Bright youth passes swiftly as a thought.
When we are dead; rugs are no richer than a quick-thorn bed.
Ploutos , no wonder mortals worship you: You are so tolerant of their sins !
Restrain thy mind, and let mildness ever attend thy tongue.
Not to be born at all would be the best thing for man.