We Men Are Wretched Things.

The Life, Which Others Pay, Let Us Bestow, And Give To Fame What We To Nature Owe.

All Strangers And Beggars Are From Zeus, And A Gift, Though Small, Is Precious.

Ah How Shameless – The Way These Mortals Blame The Gods. From Us Alone They Say Come All Their Miseries Yes But They Themselves With Their Own Reckless Ways Compound Their Pains Beyond Their Proper Share.

Without Question It May Be Said Of Vancouver That Her Position, Geographically, Is Imperial To A Degree, That Her Possibilities Are Enormous, And That With But A Feeble Stretch Of The Imagination Those Possibilities Might Wisely Be Deemed Certainties.

And Endless Are The Modes Of Speech, And Far Extends From Side To Side The Field Of Words.