Black Smoke, The Flickering Sister Of Fire.

They Who Prosper Take On Airs Of Vanity.

In Every Tyrant's Heart There Springs In The End This Poison, That He Cannot Trust A Friend.

For The Mighty, Even To Give Away Is Grace.

It Is The Nature Of Mortals To Kick A Fallen Man.

No Bribes. Nothing That Passes Under The Roof Of A Temple Or Under The Roof Of The Mouth, Can Appease Heaven's Anger Or Deflect Its Aim.