The Saying Goes That The Gods Leave

Obedience Is The Mother Of Success And Is Wedded To Safety.

But Who Can Describe The Overweening Pride Of Men? Or Women Mad With Passion, Reckless In Their Hearts, Soulmates To Every Kind Of Ruin That Befalls Us? Wild Passion, Unrestrained, Boundless, That Overcomes The Women, Perverts The Yoke Of Wedlock For Beasts And Men Alike.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.

Of All The Gods Only Death Does Not Desire Gifts.

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.