In Omni Adversitate Fortunæ, Infelicissimum Genus Est

Nothing Is Miserable But What Is Thought So, And Contrariwise, Every Estate Is Happy If He That Bears It Be Content.

Nothing Is Miserable Unless You Think It So; And On The Other Hand, Nothing Brings Happiness Unless You Are Content With It.

Contemplate The Extent And Stability Of The Heavens, And Then At Last Cease To Admire Worthless Things.

I Who Once Wrote Songs With Keen Delight Am Now By Sorrow Driven To Take Up Melancholy Measures. Wounded Muses Tell Me What I Must Write, And Elegiac Verses Bathe My Face With Real Tears. Not Even Terror Could Drive From Me These Faithful Companions Of My Long Journey. Poetry, Which Was Once The Glory Of My Happy And Flourishing Youth, Is Still My Comfort In This Misery Of My Old Age.

Every Man Must Be Content With That Glory Which He May Have At Home.