If our inward griefs were written on our brows, how many who are envied now would be pitied. It would seem that they had their deadliest foe in their own breast, and their whole happiness would be reduced to mere… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is a rock; the whole life is a wide ocean. Reason is the pilot to guide us,… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The pilot who is always dreading a rock or a tempest must not complain if he remain a poor fisherman. We must at times… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
If our inward griefs were written on our brows, how many who are envied now would be pitied. It would seem that they had… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The canker which the trunk conceals is revealed by the leaves, the fruit, or the flower. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The aged oak upon the steep stands more firm and secure if assailed by angry winds; for if the winter bares its head, the… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The eye that gazes upon the sun sees not the orb it looks upon, confounded by the excess of its brightness. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
It is the just decree of Heaven that a traitor never sees his danger till his ruin is at hand. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
