Live And Die In Aristotle's Works.

All Places Are Alike, And Every Earth Is Fit For Burial.

Hell Hath No Limits, Nor Is Circumscribed In One Self Place, For Where We Are Is Hell, And Where Hell Is There Must We Ever Be.

You Must Be Proud, Bold, Pleasant, Resolute, And Now And Then Stab, As Occasion Serves.

Above Our Life We Love A Steadfast Friend.

Till Swollen With Cunning, Of A Self-conceit, His Waxen Wings Did Mount Above His Reach, And, Melting, Heavens Conspir'd His Overthrow.