No Man Becomes Bad All At Once.

For He, Who Gave This Vast Machine To Roll, Breathed Life In Then, In Us A Reasoning Soul; That Kindred Feelings Might Our State Improve, And Mutual Wants Conduct To Mutual Love.

The Short Bloom Of Our Brief And Narrow Life Flies Fast Away. While We Are Calling For Flowers And Wine And Women, Old Age Is Upon Us. [lat., Festinat Enim Decurrere Velox Flosculus Angustae Miseraeque Brevissima Vitae Portico; Dum Bibimus Dum Sera Unguenta Puellas Poscimus Obrepit Non Intellecta Senectus.]

Remorse Is The Fruit Of Crime.

Of What Avail Are Pedigrees?

There Is Nothing Which Power Cannot Believe Of Itself, When It Is Praised As Equal To The Gods.