Kings Fight For Empires, Madmen For Applause.

As Poetry Is The Harmony Of Words, So Music Is That Of Notes.

Great Wits Are Sure To Madness Near Allied, And Thin Partitions Do Their Bounds Divide.

Dead Men Tell No Tales.

Let Those Find Fault Whose Wit's So Very Small, They've Need To Show That They Can Think At All; Errors, Like Straws, Upon The Surface Flow; He Who Would Search For Pearls, Must Dive Below. Fops May Have Leave To Level All They Can; As Pigmies Would Be Glad To Lop A Man. Half-wits Are Fleas; So Little And So Light, We Scarce Could Know They Live, But That They Bite.

Courage From Hearts And Not From Numbers Grows.