Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine

Be It Mine To Draw From Wisdom's Fount, Pure As It Flows, That Calm Of Soul Which Virtue Only Knows.

Learning Is Ever In The Freshness Of Its Youth, Even For The Old.

For A Deadly Blow Let Him Pay With A Deadly Blow: It Is For Him Who Has Done A Deed To Suffer.

In Every Tyrant's Heart There Springs In The End This Poison, That He Cannot Trust A Friend.

They Who Prosper Take On Airs Of Vanity.