We Consume Our Tomorrows Fretting About Our

Our Life Is Our Own To-day, To-morrow You Will Be Dust, A Shade, And A Tale That Is Told. Live Mindful Of Death; The Hour Flies.

The Stomach Is The Teacher Of The Arts And The Dispenser Of Invention.

The Man Who Wishes To Bend Me With His Tale Of Woe Must Shed True Tears - Not Tears That Have Been Got Ready Overnight.

Confined To Common Life Thy Numbers Flow, And Neither Soar Too High Nor Sink Too Low; There Strength And Ease In Graceful Union Meet, Though Polished, Subtle, And Though Poignant, Sweet; Yet Powerful To Abash The From Of Crime And Crimson Error's Cheek With Sportive Rhyme. [lat., Verba Togae Sequeris, Junctura Callidus Acri, Ore Teres Modico, Pallentes Radere Mores Doctus, Et Ingenuo Culpam Defigere Ludo.]

The Belly (i.e. Necessity) Is The Teacher Of Art And The Liberal Bestower Of Wit.