That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation; since our fortune's course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all the time.
Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.
The wavering mind is but a base possession.
'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.
Wealth stays with us a little moment if at all: only our characters are steadfast, not our gold.
Better a serpent than a stepmother!