Hold High The Brow Serene, O Youth,

Virtue Lies In The Middle Ground.

No Good Water Comes From A Muddy Spring. No Sweet Fruit Comes From A Bitter Seed.

Oh How Beautiful To Fall To Give You Flight, To Die To Give You Life, To Rest Under Your Sky; And In Your Enchanted Land Forever Sleep.

I Have Observed That The Prosperity Or Misery Of Each People Is In Direct Proportion To Its Liberties Or Its Prejudices And, Accordingly, To The Sacrifices Or The Selfishness Of Its Forefathers. -juan Crisostomo Ibarra

There Can Be No Tyrants Where There Are No Slaves.