Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.

Out of sight is out of mind.

Thou shalt not covet; but tradition approves all forms of competition.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright!

Do not adultery commit; Advantage rarely comes of it.

Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive officiously to keep alive.