No Man Can Ever Be Secure Until

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.

All Fortune Is Good Fortune; For It Either Rewards, Disciplines, Amends, Or Punishes, And So Is Either Useful Or Just.

If There Is A God, Whence Proceed So Many Evils? If There Is No God, Whence Cometh Any Good?

For In Every Ill-turn Of Fortune The Most Unhappy Sort Of Unfortunate Man Is The One Who Has Been Happy

In Omni Adversitate Fortunæ, Infelicissimum Genus Est Infortunii Fuisse Felicem In Every Adversity Of Fortune, To Have Been Happy Is The Most Unhappy Kind Of Misfortune.