If You Want To Avoid Seeing An

One Falls To The Ground In Trying To Sit On Two Stools.

How Comes It That You Curse, Frere Jean? It's Only, Said The Monk, In Order To Embellish My Language. They Are The Colors Of Ciceronian Rhetoric.

From The Gut Comes The Strut, And Where Hunger Reigns, Strength Abstains.

I Won't Undertake War Until I Have Tried All The Arts And Means Of Peace.

Do Not Limp Before The Lame. [old Fr., Ne Clochez Pas Devant Les Boyteus.]