If God be my friend, I cannot be wretched.
Nothing retains its form; new shapes from old. Nature, the great inventor, ceaselessly contrives. In all creation, be assured, there is no death - no death, but only change and innovation; what we men call birth is but a different new beginning; death is but to cease to be the same. Perhaps this may have moved to that, and that to this, yet still the sum of things remains the same.
The punishment can be remitted; the crime is everlasting.
We are charmed by neatness: Let not your hair be out of order. [Lat., Munditiis capimur: non sine lege capilli.]
There is a certain pleasure in weeping.
We always strive after what is forbidden, and desire the things refused us.
It is a kingly act to help the fallen.
Let others praise ancient times; I am glad I was born in these.
Bring a lawsuit against a man who can pay; the poor man's acts are not worth the expense
To dismiss a guest is a more ungracious act than not to admit him at all.
Grief brims itself and flows away in tears.
The rose is often found near the nettle.
Like fragile ice anger passes away in time.
Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo. (The drop excavates the stone, not with force but by falling often.)
Chastity, once lost, cannot be recalled; it goes only once.
O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?
Wind feeds the fire, and wind extinguishes: The flames are nourished by a gentle breeze, Yet, if it stronger grows, they sink and die.
As wave is driven by wave And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead, So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows, Always, for ever and new. What was before Is left behind; what never was is now; And every passing moment is renewed.
Death is less bitter punishment than death's delay.
Those presents are the most acceptable which are enhanced by our regard for the donor.
Live without envy, spend your peaceful years Unknown to fame, and choose your peers for friends.
I can't live without you or with you.
A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of rumour. [Lat., Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit.]
Love fed fat soon turns to boredom.
I hate a woman who offers herself because she ought to do so, and cold and dry thinks of her sewing when making love.
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