Fire And Water Are Not Of More

The Enemy Is Within The Gates; It Is With Our Own Luxury, Our Own Folly, Our Own Criminality That We Have To Contend.

It Is Foolish To Pluck Out One's Hair For Sorrow, As If Grief Could Be Assuaged By Baldness.

The Life Of The Dead Is Placed In The Memory Of The Living.

No Tempest Or Conflagration, However Great, Is Harder To Quell Than Mob Carried Away By The Novelty Of Power.

In Friendship We Find Nothing False Or Insincere; Everything Is Straight Forward, And Springs From The Heart.