For Your Ignorance Is The Mother Of

Beauty, Like Ice, Our Footing Does Betray; Who Can Tread Sure On The Smooth, Slippery Way: Pleased With The Surface, We Glide Swiftly On, And See The Dangers That We Cannot Shun.

War Is The Trade Of Kings.

For What Can Power Give More Than Food And Drink, To Live At Ease, And Not Be Bound To Think?

Ah, How Sweet It Is To Love! Ah, How Gay Is Young Desire! And What Pleasing Pains We Prove When We First Approach Love's Fire!

I Am Resolved To Grow Fat, And Look Young Till Forty.