Everything In Rome Has Its Price.

Every Crime Will Bring Remorse To The Man Who Committed It

Trust Me No Tortures Which The Poets Feign Can Match The Fierce Unutterable Pain He Feels, Who Night And Day Devoid Of Rest Carries His Own Accuser In His Breast.

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!

Be Rich For Yourself And Poor To Your Friends.

Conscience, The Executioner, Shaking Her Secret Scourge.