If The Skies Fall, One May Hope

A Habit Does Not A Monk Make.

Always Open All Gates And Roads To Your Enemies, And Rather Make For Them A Bridge Of Silver, To Get Rid Of Them. [fr., Ouvrez Toujours A Vos Ennemis Toutes Les Portes Et Chemin, Et Plutot Leur Faites Un Pont D'argent, Afin De Les Renvoyer.]

Hungry Bellies Have No Cars.

All Things Have Their Ends And Cycles. And When They Have Reached Their Highest Point, They Are In Their Lowest Ruin, For They Cannot Last For Long In Such A State. Such Is The End For Those Who Cannot Moderate Their Fortune And Prosperity With Reason And Temperance.

A Crier Of Green Sauce.