Under Every Stone Lurks A Politician.

I Would Treat Her Like An Egg, The Shell Of Which We Remove Before Eating It; I Would Take Off Her Mask And Then Kiss Her Pretty Face.

Quickly, Bring Me A Beaker Of Wine, So That I May Wet My Mind And Say Something Clever.

When The Soldier Returns From The Wars, Even Though He Has White Hair, He Very Soon Finds A Young Wife. But A Woman Has Only One Summer; If She Does Not Make Hay While The Sun Shines, No One Will Afterwards Have Anything To Say To Her, And She Spends Her Days Consulting Oracles That Never Send Her A Husband.

Full Of Wiles, Full Of Guile, At All Times, In All Ways, Are The Children Of Men.

How Can I Study From Below, That Which Is Above?