Money amassed either serves us or rules us.

The dispute is still before the judge.

Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.

The wolf dreads the pitfall, the hawk suspects the snare, and the kite the covered hook.

What can be found equal to modesty, uncorrupt faith, the sister of justice, and undisguised truth?

What we learn only through the ears makes less impression upon our minds than what is presented to the trustworthy eye.

Let the character as it began be preserved to the last; and let it be consistent with itself.