A Few Drops Sprinkled On The Torch

Here Is Neither Want Of Appetite Nor Mouths, Pray Heaven We Be Not Scant Of Meat Or Mirth.

Oh, Poverty Parts Good Company.

Vengeance To God Alone Belongs; But, When I Think Of All My Wrongs My Blood Is Liquid Flame!

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

Covetousness Bursts The Sack And Spills The Grain.