O Virtue, I Have Followed You Through

Alas, How Right The Ancient Saying Is: We, Who Are Old, Are Nothing Else But Noise And Shape. Like Mimicries Of Dreams We Go, And Have No Wits, Although We Think Us Wise.

Those Whose Cause Is Just Will Never Lack Good Arguments.

Dishonor Will Not Trouble Me, Once I Am Dead.

Every Man Is Like The Company He Wont To Keep.

A Sweet Thing, For Whatever Time, To Revisit In Dreams The Dear Dad We Have Lost.