Everything Flows And Nothing Stays.

Ah, Beer, My One Weakness. My Achille's Heel, If You Will.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

She Threw Into The Wine Which They Were Drinking A Drug Which Takes Away Grief And Passion And Brings Forgetfulness Of All Ills

For Too Much Rest Becomes A Pain.

Base Wealth Preferring To Eternal Praise.