Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For

Was This The Face That Launched A Thousand Ships, And Burnt The Topless Towers Of Ileum?

O Soul, Be Changed Into Little Waterdrops, / And Fall Into The Ocean, Ne'er Be Found!

Accurst Be He That First Invented War.

It Is A Comfort To The Miserable To Have Comrades In Misfortune, But It Is A Poor Comfort After All.

Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For Us.