Travelers With Naught Sing In The Robber's

The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Concerns Itself No More, And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things: Bread And Circuses!

Let Me Moderate Our Sorrows. The Grief Of A Man Should Not Exceed Proper Bounds, But Be In Proportion To The Blow He Has Received. [lat., Ponamus Nimios Gemitus: Flagrantior Aequo Non Debet Dolor Esse Viri, Nec Vulnere Major.]

This Is My Wish, This Is My Command, My Pleasure Is My Reason

All Wish To Possess Knowledge, But Few, Comparatively Speaking, Are Willing To Pay The Price.

Ask For A Valiant Heart Which Has Banished The Fear Of Death, Which Looks Upon Length Of Days As One Of The Least Of Nature's Gifts; Which Is Able To Suffer Every Kind Of Hardship, Is Proof Against Anger, Craves For Nothing, And Reckons The Trials And Gruelling Labours Of Hercules As More Desirable Blessings Than The Amorous Ease And The Banquets And Cushions Of Sardanapallus. The Things That I Recommend You Can Grant To Yourself.