Every great house is full of haughty servants.
Avarice increases with the increasing pile of gold.
One gets a cross for his crime, the other a crown.
O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined Sink not so deep into the generous mind, As the contempt and laughter of mankind.
Like warmed-up cabbage served at each repast, The repetition kills the wretch at last.
Who watches the watchmen?
The love of popularity holds you in a vice.
The act of God injures no one.
Nature confesses that she has bestowed on the human race hearts of softest mould, in that she has given us tears.
The gods alone know, what kind of wife a man will have.
The finishing stroke of all sorrow.
The face, not the woman is the attraction.
The arrows are from her dowry.
The abuse of cabmen in a block.
When great assurance accompanies a bad undertaking, such is often mistaken for confiding sincerity by the world at large.
The grape becomes tinted from the grape it comes in contact with.
The guilty are alarmed and turn pale at the slightest thunder.
The itch of scribbling.
When your armour is on, it is too late to retreat.
To gain a livelihood at the expense of all that makes life worth the having.