A wise God shrouds the future in obscure darkness. [Lat., Prudens futuri temporis exitum Caliginosa nocte premit deus.]
Nothing is difficult to mortals; we strive to reach heaven itself in our folly. [Lat., Nil mortalibus arduum est; Coelum ipsum petimus stultitia.]
Busy idleness urges us on. [Lat., Strenua nos exercet inertia.]
Luck cannot change birth.
Mediocrity is not allowed to poets, either by the gods or men.
I live and reign since I have abandoned those pleasures which you by your praises extol to the skies. [Lat., Vivo et regno, simul ista reliqui Quae vos ad coelum effertis rumore secundo.]
If you rank me with the lyric poets, my exalted head shall strike the stars. [Lat., Quod si me lyricis vatibus inseris, Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.]
I will perform the function of a whetstone, which is about to restore sharpness to iron, though itself unable to cut. [Lat., Fungar vice cotis, acutum Reddere quae ferrum valet, exsors ipsi secandi.]
To carry timber into the wood. [Lat., In silvam ligna ferre.]
All powerful money gives birth and beauty. [Lat., Et genus et formam regina pecunia donat.]
Though you strut proud of your money, yet fortune has not changed your birth. [Lat., Licet superbus ambules pecuniae, Fortuna non mutat genus.]
What will this boaster produce worthy of this mouthing? The mountains are in labor; a ridiculous mouse will be born. [Lat., Quid dignum tanto feret hic promissor hiatu? Parturiunt montes; nascetur ridiculus mus.]
To pile Pelion upon Olympus. [Lat., Pelion imposuisse Olympo.]
A man perfect to the finger tips.
An undertaking beset with danger.
Dispel the cold, bounteously replenishing the hearth with logs.
It is said that the propriety even of old Cato often yielded to the exciting influence of the grape.
It was intended to be a vase, it has turned out a pot.
Joking apart, now let us be serious.
Let him who has once perceived how much that, which has been discarded, excels that which he has longed for, return at once, and seek again that which he despised.
The question is yet before the court.
The whole race of scribblers flies from the town and yearns for country life.
There are faults we would fain pardon.
There is no retracing our steps.
There is nothing hard inside the olive; nothing hard outside the nut.
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