Autumn Is The Harvest Of Greedy Death.

Many Suffer From The Incurable Disease Of Writing, And It Becomes Chronic In Their Sick Minds.

The Only Gain From The Friendship Of The Great Is A Fine Dinner.

Two Things Only The People Actually Desire: Bread And Circuses.

Seldom Do People Discern Eloquence Under A Threadbare Cloak

We Are Too Quick To Imitate Depraved Examples.