He Whose Wisdom Cannot Help Him, Gets

Let No One Honour Me With Tears, Or Bury Me With Lamentation. Why? Because I Fly Hither And Thither, Living In The Mouths Of Me. [lat., Nemo Me Lacrymis Decoret, Nec Funera Fletu. Faxit Cur? Volito Vivu' Per Ora Virum.]

They Hate Whom They Fear.

I Never Indulge In Rhyme Or Stanza Unless I'm In Bed With The Influenza.

The Victor Is Not Victorious If The Vanquished Does Not Consider Himself So

He Who Has Two Languages Has Two Souls.