O Tempora! O Mores! O

Let War Yield To Peace, Laurels To Paeans.

There Is No More Sure Tie Between Friends Than When They Are United In Their Objects And Wishes.

The Harvest Of Old Age Is The Recollection And Abundance Of Blessing Previously Secured.

True Glory Strikes Root, And Even Extends Itself; All False Pretensions Fall As Do Flowers, Nor Can Any Feigned Thing Be Lasting.

Nothing Is So Strongly Fortified That It Cannot Be Taken By Money.