To Be Bowed By Grief Is Folly;

To Be Bowed By Grief Is Folly; Naught Is Gained By Melancholy; Better Than The Pain Of Thinking, Is To Steep The Sense In Drinking.

Not Houses Finely Roofed Or The Stones Of Walls Well Builded, Nay Nor Canals And Dockyards Make The City, But Men Able To Use Their Opportunity.

Wine Is A Peep-hole On A Man.

Not Well-built Walls, But Brave Citizens Are The Bulwark Of The City.

Fighting Men Are The City's Fortress.