She Sent Him A Warm And Gentle

Let Him Submit To Me! Only The God Of Death Is So Relentless, Death Submits To No One—so Mortals Hate Him Most Of All The Gods. Let Him Bow Down To Me! I Am The Greater King, I Am The Elder-born, I Claim—the Greater Man.

Wine Lead To Folly, Making Even The Wise To Laugh Immoderately, To Dance, And To Utter What Had Better Have Been Kept Silent.

How Prone To Doubt, How Cautious Are The Wise!

The Difficulty Is Not So Great To Die For A Friend, As To Find A Friend Worth Dying For.

Jove Lifts The Golden Balances That Show The Fates Of Mortal Men, And Things Below.