Wisdom Triumphs Over Chance.

Trust Me No Tortures Which The Poets Feign Can Match The Fierce Unutterable Pain He Feels, Who Night And Day Devoid Of Rest Carries His Own Accuser In His Breast.

No Nice Extreme A True Italian Knows; But Bid Him Go To Hell, To Hell He Goes.

Rare Is The Union Of Beauty And Purity.

Now That No One Buys Our Votes, The Public Has Long Since Cast Off Its Cares; For The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Meddles No More And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things - Bread And Circuses.

When Great Assurance Accompanies A Bad Undertaking, Such Is Often Mistaken For Confiding Sincerity By The World At Large.