There Is Nothing Which Power

What Day Is So Festal It Fails To Reveal Some Theft?

Luck Often Raises Vulgarity To A High Position, To Create Mirth For The Beholders.

An Incurable Itch For Scribbling Takes Possession Of Many, And Grows Inveterate In Their Insane Breasts.

He Who Meditates A Crime Secretly Within Himself Has All The Guilt Of The Act.

The Thirst For Fame Is Much Greater Than That For Virtue; For Who Would Embrace Virtue Itself If You Take Away Its Rewards? [lat., Tanto Major Famae Sitis Est Quam Virtutis: Quis Enim Virtutem Amplectitur Ipsam Praemia Se Tollas.]