Wine is a peep-hole on a man.
Tis said that wrath is the last thing in a man to grow old.
Not well-built walls, but brave citizens are the bulwark of the city.
To be bowed by grief is folly; Naught is gained by melancholy; Better than the pain of thinking, Is to steep the sense in drinking.
Not houses finely roofed or the stones of walls well builded, nay nor canals and dockyards make the city, but men able to use their opportunity.
Plant no tree sooner than the vine.
Fighting men are the city's fortress.
Brave men are a city's strongest tower of defence.
One that hath wine as a chain about his wits, such a one lives no life at all.
The Arcadians were chestnut-eaters.
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