There's A Lust In Man, No Charm

Be, As Many Now Are, Luxurious To Yourself, Parsimonious To Your Friends. [lat., Esto, Ut Nunc Multi, Dives Tibi Pauper Amicis.]

The Love Of Popularity Holds You In A Vice.

The Brief Span Of Our Poor Unhappy Life To Its Final Hour Is Hastening On; And While We Drink And Call For Gay Wreaths, Perfumes, And Young Girls, Old Age Creeps Upon Us, Unperceived.

If You Are Capable Of Submitting To Insult You Ought To Be Insulted.

She Knows No Difference 'twixt Head And Privities Who Devours Immense Oysters At Midnight.