Autumn Is The Harvest Of Greedy Death.

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

It Is A Wretched Thing To Rest Upon The Fame Of Others, Lest, The Supporting Pillar Being Removed, The Superstructure Should Collapse In Ruin.

Those Who Do Not Wish To Kill Any One, Wish They Had The Power. [lat., Et Qui Nolunt Occidere Quemquam Posse Volunt.]

Two Things Only The People Actually Desire: Bread And Circuses.

Revenge Is Sweeter Than Life Itself. So Think Fools.