Fortune Can, For Her Pleasure, Fools Advance,

It Is A Wretched Thing To Live On The Fame Of Others.

Trust To A Plank, Draw Precarious Breath, At Most Seven Inches From The Jaws Of Death.

The Examples Of Vice At Home Corrupt Us More Quickly And Easily Than Others, Since They Steal Into Our Minds Under The Highest Authority.

An Incurable Itch For Scribbling Takes Possession Of Many, And Grows Inveterate In Their Insane Breasts.

Of What Use Are Pedigrees, Or To Be Thought Of Noble Blood, Or The Display Of Family Portraits, O Ponticus?