How Easy Love Makes Fools Of Us.

Even Rome Cannot Grant Us A Dispensation From Death.

Esteem Must Be Founded On Some Sort Of Preference. Bestow It On Everybody And It Ceases To Have Any Meaning At All.

The Ancients, Sir, Are The Ancients, And We Are The People Of Today.

The Less We Deserve Good Fortune, The More We Hope For It.

One Is Easily Fooled By That Which One Loves.