Each of us bears his own Hell.
Easy is the descent to hell; all night long, all day, the doors of dark Hades stand open; but to retrace the path; to come out again to the sweet air of Heaven - there is the task, there is the burden.
Even virtue is fairer when it appears in a beautiful person.
Such is the love of praise, so great the anxiety for victory.
Time is flying never to return.
In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom.