Which Would You Rather Be, A Conqueror

A Glorious Death Is His, Who For His Country Falls.

To Heal Divisions, To Relieve The Oppress'd, In Virtue Rich; In Blessing Others, Bless'd.

Blame The Guy Who Doesn't Speak Engish.

All Things Are In The Hand Of Heaven, And Folly, Eldest Of Jove's Daughters, Shuts Men's Eyes To Their Destruction. She Walks Delicately, Not On The Solid Earth, But Hovers Over The Heads Of Men To Make Them Stumble Or To Ensnare Them.

We Got A Little Rule Back Home: If It's Brown, Drink It Down. If It's Black, Send It Back.