The path of duty lies in what is near at hand, but men seek for it in what is remote

Men fated to be happy need not haste

Men in the game are blind to what men looking on see clearly

Men know not all their faults, oxen all their strength

Not wine men intoxicate themselves; not vice men entice themselves

Those who do not study are only cattle dressed up in men’s clothes

Don’t waste good iron for nails or good men for soldiers

There are two perfectly good men, one dead, and the other unborn

Small men think they are small; great men never know they are great

Small ills are the fountains of most of our groans Men trip not on mountains, they stumble on stones

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