Time Brings All Things To Pass.

Rumours Voiced By Women Come To Nothing.

And Now It Goes As It Goes And Where It Ends Is Fate. And Neither By Singeing Flesh Nor Tipping Cups Of Wine Nor Shedding Burning Tears Can You Enchant Away The Rigid Fury.

Sweet Is A Grief Well Ended.

Better To Die On Your Feet Than Live On Your Knees.

I, Schooled In Misery, Know Many Purifying Rites, And I Know Where Speech Is Proper And Where Silence.