Porkchops And Bacon, My Two

The Life, Which Others Pay, Let Us Bestow, And Give To Fame What We To Nature Owe.

The Leader, Mingling With The Vulgar Host, Is In The Common Mass Of Matter Lost.

It Is Better To Watch People Do Stuff Than To Do Stuff.

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.

Ah How Shameless – The Way These Mortals Blame The Gods. From Us Alone They Say Come All Their Miseries Yes But They Themselves With Their Own Reckless Ways Compound Their Pains Beyond Their Proper Share.