To each man at his birth nature has given some fault.

Fickleness has always befriended the beautiful.

Among absent lovers, ardor always fares better.

Every man now worships gold, all other reverence being done away.

Something greater than the Iliad now springs to birth -Nescio quid maius nascitur Iliade

Let each man pass his days in that endeavor wherein his gift is greatest.

Let's give the historians something to write about