A Man Who Has Nothing Can Whistle

Nature Confesses That She Has Bestowed On The Human Race Hearts Of Softest Mould, In That She Has Given Us Tears.

The Same Dish Cooked Over And Over Again Wears Out The Irksome Life Of The Teacher.

Let Me Moderate Our Sorrows. The Grief Of A Man Should Not Exceed Proper Bounds, But Be In Proportion To The Blow He Has Received. [lat., Ponamus Nimios Gemitus: Flagrantior Aequo Non Debet Dolor Esse Viri, Nec Vulnere Major.]

Refrain From Doing Ill; For One All Powerful Reason, Lest Our Children Should Copy Our Misdeeds; We Are All Too Prone To Imitate Whatever Is Base And Depraved.

There Is Great Unanimity Among The Dissolute. [lat., Magna Inter Molles Concordia.]