The Wheel Of A Man's Life. No

The Wheel Of Time Turns, And Ages Come And Pass, Leaving Memories That Become Legend. Legend Fades To Myth, And Even Myth Is Long Forgotten When The Age That Gave It Birth Comes Again. In One Age, Called The Third Age By Some, An Age Yet To Come, An Age Long Past, A Wind Rose In The Mountains Of Mist. The Wind Was Not The Beginning. There Are Neither Beginnings Nor Endings To The Turning Of The Wheel Of Time. But It Was A Beginning.

A Flapping Tongue Has Killed More Men Than Sudden Storms Ever Did.

The Only Way Was Forward, Whatever Lay At The End.

A Gnarled Old Branch Dulls The Blade That Severs A Sapling.

As The Wheel Of Time Turns, Places Wear Many Names. Men Wear Many Names, Many Faces. Different Faces, But Always The Same Man. Yet No One Knows The Great Pattern The Wheel Weaves, Or Even The Pattern Of An Age. We Can Only Watch, And Study, And Hope.