Because Your Question Searches For Deep Meaning,

Seldom Indeed Does Human Virtue Rise From Trunk To Branch.

O Conscience, Upright And Stainless, How Bitter A Sting To Thee Is A Little Fault!

The Man Who Lies Asleep Will Never Waken Fame, And His Desire And All His Life Drift Past Him Like A Dream, And The Traces Of His Memory Fade From Time Like Smoke In Air, Or Ripples On A Stream.

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here. [omnes Relinquite Spes, O Vos Intrantes]

Honor Is The Greatest Poet.