The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To

Come Then, Put Away Your Sword In Its Sheath, And Let Us Two Go Up Into My Bed So That, Lying Together In The Bed Of Love, We May Then Have Faith And Trust In Each Other.

I Would Rather Be A Serf In A Poor Man's House And Be Above Ground Than Reign Among The Dead.

Everything Flows And Nothing Stays.

Few Sons Are Like Their Fathers - Many Are Worse, Few Better.

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.