Ploutos , no wonder mortals worship you: You are so tolerant of their sins !
Unless the gods deceive my mind , That man is forging fetters for himself.
He who mistrusts most should be trusted least.
To many men well-fitting doors are not set on their tongues.
Surfeit begets insolence, when prosperity comes to a bad man.
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.