Ignorance Is The Mother Of All Evils.

If In Your Soil It Takes, To Heaven A Thousand Thousand Thanks Be Given; And Say With France, It Goodly Goes, Where The Pantagruelion Grows.

How Comes It That You Curse, Frere Jean? It's Only, Said The Monk, In Order To Embellish My Language. They Are The Colors Of Ciceronian Rhetoric.

Half The World Does Not Know How The Other Half Lives.

A War Undertaken Without Sufficient Monies Has But A Wisp Of Force. Coins Are The Very Sinews Of Battles.

I Build Only Living Stones--men.