The Words Of Truth Are Simple.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The Greatest Defence Against Their Many Ills.

. . . It Is Yours Women's To Be Silent And Stay Within Doors.

Report Uttered By The People Is Everywhere Of Great Power.

There Is No Sickness Worse For Me Than Words That To Be Kind Must Lie.