Out Of Nothing Can Come, And Nothing

Oh, What A Void There Is In Things.

Lives There The Man With Soul So Dead As To Disown The Wish To Merit The People's Applause, And Having Uttered Words Worthy To Be Kept In Cedar Oil To Latest Times, To Leave Behind Him Rhymes That Dread Neither Herrings Nor Frankincense.

Let Them (the Wicked) See The Beauty Of Virtue, And Pine At Having Forsaken Her. [lat., Virtutem Videant, Intabescantque Relicta.]

And Don't Consult Anyone's Opinions But Your Own.

It Is Pleasing To Be Pointed At With The Finger And To Have It Said, "there Goes The Man." [lat., At Pulchrum Est Digito Monstrari Et Dicier His Est.]