The Finishing Stroke Of All Sorrow.

No Nice Extreme A True Italian Knows; But Bid Him Go To Hell, To Hell He Goes.

Virtue Is The Only And True Nobility. [lat., Nobilitas Sola Est Atque Unica Virtus.]

Wisdom Is The Conqueror Of Fortune. [lat., Victrix Fortunae Sapientia.]

For He, Who Gave This Vast Machine To Roll, Breathed Life In Then, In Us A Reasoning Soul; That Kindred Feelings Might Our State Improve, And Mutual Wants Conduct To Mutual Love.

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.