Give Them Bread And Circuses And They

All Arts His Own, The Hungry Greekling Counts; And Bid Him Mount The Skies, The Skies He Mounts.

Many Commit The Same Crimes With A Very Different Result. One Bears A Cross For His Crime; Another A Crown.

Of What Use Are Pedigrees, Or To Be Thought Of Noble Blood, Or The Display Of Family Portraits, O Ponticus?

Men Who Only Live To Eat.

Money Lost Is Bewailed With Unfeigned Tears. [lat., Ploratur Lacrimis Amissa Pecunia Veris.]