Say Nothing But Good Of The Dead.

If Through Your Vices You Afflicted Are, Lay Not The Blame Of Your Distress On God; You Made Your Rulers Mighty, Gave Them Guards, So Now You Groan 'neath Slavery's Heavy Rod.

What Thou Seest, Speak Of With Caution.

Wealth I Desire To Have; But Wrongfully To Get It, I Do Not Wish.

Poets Tell Many Lies.

The Ideal State Is That In Which An Injury Done To The Least Of Its Citizens Is An Injury Done To All.