Do Not Kick Against The Pricks.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

Justice Inclines Her Scales So That Wisdom Comes At The Price Of Suffering.

Of All The Gods Only Death Does Not Desire Gifts.

The Best By Far Is To Marry In One's Own Rank.

And Though All Streams Flow From A Single Course To Cleanse The Blood From Polluted Hand, They Hasten On Their Course In Vain.