Old Men Are Children Once Again A

Words Are The Parents Of A Causeless Wrath.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

Time Cleanses What It Touches Over Time.

Wrong Must Not Win By Technicalities.

There Are Times When Fear Is Good. It Must Keep Its Watchful Place At The Heart's Controls.