Autumn Is The Harvest Of

Few Tyrants Go Down To The Infernal Regions By A Natural Death.

It Is A Wretched Thing To Rest Upon The Fame Of Others, Lest, The Supporting Pillar Being Removed, The Superstructure Should Collapse In Ruin.

Remorse Is The Fruit Of Crime.

Some Men Make Fortunes, But Not To Enjoy Them For, Blinded By Avarice, They Live To Make Fortunes.

Be Rich For Yourself And Poor To Your Friends.