The Field Of Doom Bears Death As

In Every Tyrant's Heart There Springs In The End This Poison, That He Cannot Trust A Friend.

Of All The Gods, Death Only Craves Not Gifts: Nor Sacrifice, Nor Yet Drink-offering Poured Avails; No Altars Hath He, Nor Is Soothed By Hymns Of Praise. From Him Alone Of All The Powers Of Heaven Persuasion Holds Aloof.

The Future You Shall Know When It Has Come; Before Then, Forget It.

It Is A Profitable Thing, If One Is Wise, To Seem Foolish.

Pleasantest Of All Ties Is The Tie Of Host And Guest.