In Wine, There's Truth.

Most Men Are Afraid Of A Bad Name, But Few Fear Their Consciences.

Nature Makes Us Buy Her Presents At The Price Of So Many Sufferings That It Is Doubtful Whether She Deserves Most The Name Of Parent Or Stepmother.

The Best Plan Is To Profit By The Folly Of Others.

Contact With [menstrual Blood] Turns New Wine Sour, Crops Touched By It Become Barren, Grafts Die, Seed In Gardens Are Dried Up, The Fruit Of Trees Fall Off, The Edge Of Steel And The Gleam Of Ivory Are Dulled, Hives Of Bees Die, Even Bronze And Iron Are At Once Seized By Rust, And A Horrible Smell Fills The Air; To Taste It Drives Dogs Mad And Infects Their Bites With An Incurable Poison.

Made Up Of The Glories Of The Most Precious Gems, To Describe Them Is A Matter Of Inexpressible Difficulty. For There Is Amongst Them The Gentler Fire Of The Ruby, There Is The Rich Purple Of The Amethyst, There Is The Sea-green Of The Emerald, And All Shining Together In An Indescribable Union. Others, By An Excessive Heightening Of Their Hues Equal All The Colours Of The Painter, Others The Flame Of Burning Brimstone, Or Of A Fire Quickened By Oil.