It Is The Guilt, Not The Scaffold,

I Am Roman, Alas, Because Horace Is Roman.

These Flattering Mirrors Reflect Imperfectly What Is Within; The Countenance Is Often A Gay Deceiver. What Defects Of Mind Lie Hidden Under Its Beauty! What Fair Exteriors Conceal Base Souls!

Liberty May Be Of No More Use Than Stirring Up The Flame Of Civil Wars; Then, By Disorder Fatal To The World, One Wants No King, The Other Wants No Equal.

To Myself Alone Do I Owe My Fame. [fr., Je Ne Dois Qu'a Moi Seul Toute Ma Renommee.]

A Liar Is Full Of Oaths.