Do not unto another that which you would not he should do unto you.

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

Make room, Roman writers, make room for Greek writers; something greater than the Iliad is born.

Even if my strength should fail, my daring will win me praise: in might enterprises even the will to succeed is enough.

There is something beyond the grave; death does not end all, and the pale ghost escapes from the vanquished pyre.

No rival will steal away my sure love; that glory will be my gray hair.

Let each man have the wit to go his own way.