Each draws to his best-loved.
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.
Veiling truth in mystery.
Such is the love of praise, so great the anxiety for victory.
Whatever may happen, every kind of fortune is to be overcome by bearing it.
Each man is led by his own liking.