The Arrows Are From Her Dowry.

The Short Bloom Of Our Brief And Narrow Life Flies Fast Away. While We Are Calling For Flowers And Wine And Women, Old Age Is Upon Us. [lat., Festinat Enim Decurrere Velox Flosculus Angustae Miseraeque Brevissima Vitae Portico; Dum Bibimus Dum Sera Unguenta Puellas Poscimus Obrepit Non Intellecta Senectus.]

The Thirst After Fame Is Greater Than That After Virtue; For Who Embraces Virtue If You Take Away Its Rewards?

The Smell Of Money Is Good, Come Whence It May. [alluding To Vespasian's Tax On Ordure.]

Many Have An Irresistible Itch For Writing.

It Is But The Weak And Little Mind That Rejoices In Revenge