Titles are marks of honest men, and wise; The fool or knave that wears a title lies.
Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.
The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
Life is the desert, life the solitude, death joins us to the great majority.
The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.