The Force Of Necessity Is Irresistible.

On Me The Tempest Falls. It Does Not Make Me Tremble. O Holy Mother Earth, O Air And Sun, Behold Me. I Am Wronged.

Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine Of The Heart.

So In The Libyan Fable It Is Told That Once An Eagle, Stricken With A Dart, Said, When He Saw The Fashion Of The Shaft: With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.

For Mortal Kind Taketh Thought Only For The Day, And Hath No More Surety Than The Shadow Of Smoke.

Death Is Easier Than A Wretched Life; And Better Never To Have Born Than To Live And Fare Badly.