The Life, Which Others Pay,

Few Sons Are Equal To Their Fathers; Most Fall Short, All Too Few Surpass Them.

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.

Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End.

For Never, Never, Wicked Man Was Wise.

After The Event, Even A Fool Is Wise.