Fear Hurries On My Tongue Through Want

Death Hath A Fairer Fame Than A Life Of Toil.

In War, Truth Is The First Casualty.

There Is No Pain So Great As The Memory Of Joy In Present Grief.

But I Must Bear My Destiny As Best I Can, Knowing Well That There Is No Resisting The Strength Of Necessity.

Yet Though A Man Gets Many Wounds In Breast, He Dieth Not, Unless The Appointed Time, The Limit Of His Life's Span, Coincide; Nor Does The Man Who By The Hearth At Home Sits Still, Escape The Doom That Fate Decrees.