Drooping Along The Ground The Vine Misses

Even Savage Animals Can Agree Among Themselves.

Autumn Is The Harvest Of Greedy Death.

The Brief Span Of Our Poor Unhappy Life To Its Final Hour Is Hastening On; And While We Drink And Call For Gay Wreaths, Perfumes, And Young Girls, Old Age Creeps Upon Us, Unperceived.

Cheerless Poverty Has No Harder Trial Than This, That It Makes Men The Subject Of Ridicule. [lat., Nil Habet Infelix Paupertas Durius In Se Quam Quod Ridiculos Homines Facit.]

The Smell Of Profit Is Clean And Sweet, Whatever The Source.