Blame The Guy Who Doesn't Speak Engish.

A Glorious Death Is His, Who For His Country Falls.

A Boy Without Mischief Is Like A Bowling Ball Without A Liquid Center.

All Men Have Need Of The Gods.

Even When Someone Battles Hard, There Is An Equal Portion For One Who Lingers Behind, And In The Same Honor Are Held Both The Coward And The Brave Man; The Idle Man And He Who Has Done Much Meet Death Alike.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.