The good of other times let people state; I think it lucky I was born so late.
Remove but the temptations of leisure, and the bow of Cupid will lose its effect.
It is hope which makes the shipwrecked sailor strike out with his arms in the midst of the sea, though no land is in sight.
Ere land and sea and the all-covering sky Were made, in the whole world the countenance Of nature was the same, all one, well named Chaos, a raw and undivided mass, Naught but a lifeless bulk, with warring seeds Of ill-joined elements compressed together.
Opportunity is ever worth expecting; let your hood be ever hanging ready. The fish will be in the pool where you least imagine it to be.
The hunter follows things which flee from him; he leaves them when they are taken; and ever seeks for that which is beyond what he has found. [Lat., Venator sequitur fugientia; capta relinquit; Semper et inventis ulteriora petit.]
Out of many things a great heap will be formed. [Lat., De multis grandis acervus erit.]
Fortune and love favour the brave. [Lat., Audentem Forsque Venusque juvant.]
The sea's vast depths lie open to the fish; Wherever the breezes blow the bird may fly; So to the brave man every land's a home.
Time glides away and as we get older through the noiseless years; the days flee and are restrained by no reign.
Happy the man who ventures boldly to defend what he holds dear.
I cannot keep track of all the vagaries of fashion, Every day, so it seems, brings in a different style.
Neither can the wave that has passed by be recalled, nor the hour which has passed return again.
Rare is the virtue that's not ruled by Fortune, That stands unshaken even when Fortune flees.
The applause and the favour of our fellow-men Fan even a spark of genius to a flame.
We praise times past, while we times present use; Yet due the worship which to each we give.
When all the other animals, downcast looked upon the earth, he [Prometheus] gave a face raised on high to man, and commanded him to see the sky and raise his high eyes to the stars.
Grant me profits only, grant me the joy of profit made, and see to it that I enjoy cheating the buyer!
There is no pleasure pure and simple, and some care always comes to mar our joys.
The art of medicine in the season lies: Wine given in season oft will benefit, Which out of season injures.
What is harder than stone? What more soft than water? Nevertheless hard though the rock be, it is hollowed by the wave.
What is now an act of reason, was but blind impulse.
By constant dripping, water hollows stone, A signet-ring from use alone grows thin, And the curved plowshare by soft earth is worn.
There is no need of words; believe facts. [Lat., Non opus est verbis, credite rebus.]
In an easy cause anyone can be eloquent; the slightest strength is enough to break what is already shattered.
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