We deem those happy who, from the experience of life, have learned to bear its ills, without being overcome by them.
Some men make fortunes, but not to enjoy them for, blinded by avarice, they live to make fortunes.
No one rejoices more in revenge than woman.
The care of a large estate is an unpleasant thing.
Where have you ever found that man who stopped short after the perpetration of a single crime?
Give up all hope of peace so long as your mother-in-law is alive.
Many individuals have, like uncut diamonds, shining qualities beneath a rough exterior.
Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another.
In the present state of the world it is difficult not to write lampoons.
Rare indulgence produces greater pleasure.
All wish to be learned, but no one is willing to pay the price.
Your prayer must be for a healthy mind in a sound body. Ask for a brave soul that has no fear of death, deems length of life the least of nature's gifts and is able to bear any kind of sufferings, knows neither wrath nor desire and believes the woes and hard labors of Hercules better than the loves and feasts and downy cushions of Sardanapalus. Reveal what you are able to give yourself; the only path to a life of tranquility lies through virtue.
Luxury is more deadly than any foe.
It is but the weak and little mind that rejoices in revenge
One gets a cross for his crime, the other a crown.
Now we suffer the evils of a long peace; luxury more cruel than war broods over us and avenges a conquered world.
We are all easily taught to imitate what is base and depraved. [Lat., Dociles imitandis Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus.]
This precept descended from Heaven: know thyself.
It is unmistakable madness to live in poverty only to die rich.
It is not easy for men to rise whose qualities are thwarted by poverty.
The people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions, and all else, now concerns itself no more, and longs eagerly for just two things: bread and circuses!
The gods alone know, what kind of wife a man will have.
Rarely do we meet in one combined, a beauteous body and a virtuous mind.
When did reason ever direct our desires or our fears?
Trust me no tortures which the poets feign Can match the fierce unutterable pain He feels, who night and day devoid of rest Carries his own accuser in his breast.
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