The Blade Itself Incites To Deeds Of

How Vain, Without The Merit, Is The Name.

Down From His Brow She Ran His Curls Like Thick Hyacinth Clusters Full Of Blooms

One Who Contends With Immortals Lives A Very Short Life.

Men Are So Quick To Blame The Gods: They Say That We Devise Their Misery. But They Themselves- In Their Depravity- Design Grief Greater Than The Griefs That Fate Assigns.

It Is Equally Offensive To Speed A Guest Who Would Like To Stay And To Detain One Who Is Anxious To Leave.