The Grape Becomes Tinted From The Grape

For He, Who Gave This Vast Machine To Roll, Breathed Life In Then, In Us A Reasoning Soul; That Kindred Feelings Might Our State Improve, And Mutual Wants Conduct To Mutual Love.

Poverty Is Bitter, But It Has No Harder Pang Than That It Makes Men Ridiculous.

Every Crime Will Bring Remorse To The Man Who Committed It

The Short Bloom Of Our Brief And Narrow Life Flies Fast Away. While We Are Calling For Flowers And Wine And Women, Old Age Is Upon Us. [lat., Festinat Enim Decurrere Velox Flosculus Angustae Miseraeque Brevissima Vitae Portico; Dum Bibimus Dum Sera Unguenta Puellas Poscimus Obrepit Non Intellecta Senectus.]

The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Concerns Itself No More, And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things: Bread And Circuses!