Thou Shalt Not Take Moochers Into Thy

Whoever Obeys The Gods, To Him They Particularly Listen.

What Mighty Woes To Thy Imperial Race From Woman Rose.

[i]t Is The Wine That Leads Me On, The Wild Wine That Sets The Wisest Man To Sing At The Top Of His Lungs, Laugh Like A Fool – It Drives The Man To Dancing... It Even Tempts Him To Blurt Out Stories Better Never Told.

Earth Sounds My Wisdom, And High Heaven My Fame.

Two Diverse Gates There Are Of Bodiless Dreams, These Of Sawn Ivory, And Those Of Horn. Such Dreams As Issue Where The Ivory Gleams Fly Without Fate, And Turn Our Hopes To Scorn. But Dreams Which Issue Through The Burnished Horn, What Man Soe'er Beholds Them On His Bed, These Work With Virtue And Of Truth Are Born.