. . . It Is Yours Women's

It Is In The Character Of Very Few Men To Honor Without Envy A Friend Who Has Prospered.

The Truth Has To Be Melted Out Of Our Stubborn Lives By Suffering. Nothing Speaks The Truth, Nothing Tells Us How Things Really Are, Nothing Forces Us To Know What We Do Not Want To Know Except Pain. And This Is How The Gods Declare Their Love.

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.

Neither A Life Of Anarchy Nor A Life Under A Despot Should You Praise. To All That Lies In The Middle Has A God Given Excellence.

In The Sinews Of The Dead There Is No Blood.