The Saying Goes That The Gods Leave

I Have Learned To Hate All Traitors, And There Is No Disease That I Spit On More Than Treachery.

Few Men Have The Natural Strength To Honor A Friend's Success Without Envy.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

The Words Of Truth Are Simple.

The Gods At Will Can Shape A Gladder Strain, And From The Lamentations At The Graveside, A Song Of Triumph May Arise.