From A Just Fraud God Turneth Not

The Gods At Will Can Shape A Gladder Strain, And From The Lamentations At The Graveside, A Song Of Triumph May Arise.

Of All The Gods, Death Only Craves Not Gifts: Nor Sacrifice, Nor Yet Drink-offering Poured Avails; No Altars Hath He, Nor Is Soothed By Hymns Of Praise. From Him Alone Of All The Powers Of Heaven Persuasion Holds Aloof.

A Prosperous Fool Is A Grievous Burden.

Mourn For Me Rather As Living Than As Dead.

When A Match Has Equal Partners Then I Fear Not.