“It is a sweet and seemly thing to die for one's country.” — Horace

It is when I struggle to be brief that I become obscure.

Fortune makes a fool of those she favors too much.

A shoe that is too large is apt to trip one, and when too small, to pinch the feet. So it is with those whose fortune does not suit them.

No verse can give pleasure for long, nor last, that is written by drinkers of water.