For Yesterday Was Once To-morrow.

Each Man Has His Own Desires; All Do Not Possess The Same Inclinations.

We Consume Our Tomorrows Fretting About Our Yesterdays.

Lives There The Man With Soul So Dead As To Disown The Wish To Merit The People's Applause, And Having Uttered Words Worthy To Be Kept In Cedar Oil To Latest Times, To Leave Behind Him Rhymes That Dread Neither Herrings Nor Frankincense.

Oh, The Cares Of Men! How Much Emptiness There Is In Human Concerns!

Retire Within Thyself, And Thou Will Discover How Small A Stock Is There. [lat., Tecum Habita, Et Noris Quam Sit Tibi Curta Supellex.]