That No One, No One At All,

Lives There The Man With Soul So Dead As To Disown The Wish To Merit The People's Applause, And Having Uttered Words Worthy To Be Kept In Cedar Oil To Latest Times, To Leave Behind Him Rhymes That Dread Neither Herrings Nor Frankincense.

Nothing Can Be Born Of Nothing; Nothing Can Be Resolved Into Nothing.

Oh, The Cares Of Men! How Much Emptiness There Is In Human Concerns!

He Conquers Who Endures.

That No One, No One At All, Should Try To Search Into Himself! But The Wallet Of The Person In Front Is Carefully Kept In View. [lat., Ut Nemo In Sese Tentat Descendere, Nemo! Sed Praecedenti Spectatur Mantica Tergo.]