Bacchus Has Drowned More Men Than Neptune.

If These Hands, Used To Fighting, Would Be Acceptable To His Holiness, We Most Thankfully Dedicate Them To The Service Of Him Who Deserves So Well Of The Church And Of The Fatherland.

Ah, No, Far Be From Me A Thought Which I Loathe Like Poison.

Let Him Who Loves His Country In His Heart, And Not His Lips Only, Follow Me.

I Offer Neither Pay, Nor Quarters, Nor Food; I Offer Only Hunger, Thirst, Forced Marches, Battles And Death. Let Him Who Loves His Country With His Heart, And Not Merely With His Lips, Follow Me.

To This Wonderful Page In Our Country's History Another More Glorious Still Will Be Added, And The Slave Shall Show At Last To His Free Brothers A Sharpened Sword Forged From The Links Of His Fetters.