The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?

What Reason Weaves, By Passion Is Undone.

The Lot Of Man - To Suffer And To Die.

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.