Ants do no bend their ways to empty barns, so no friend will visit the place of departed wealth.
[Lat., Horrea formicae tendunt ad inania nunquam
Nullus ad amissas ibit amicus opes.]
With wavering steps does fickle fortune stray,
Nowhere she finds a firm and fixed abode;
But now all smiles, and now again all frowns,
She's constant only in inconstancy.
I have never injured anybody with a mordant poem; my
verse contains charges against nobody. Ingenuous, I have
shunned wit steeped in venom--not a letter of mine is dipped
in poisonous jest.
Truly it is allowed us to weep: by weeping we disperse our wrath; and tears go through the heart, even like a stream.
[Lat., Flere licet certe: flendo diffundimus iram:
Perque sinum lacrimae, fluminis instar enim.]
An anthill increases by accumulation. Medicine is consumed by distribution. That which is feared lessens by association. This is the thing to understand.