With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others'

A Great Ox Stands On My Tongue.

What Is There More Kindly Than The Feeling Between Host And Guest?

In War, Truth Is The First Casualty.

Old Men, What Are They? Fast Fading The Leaf, Three-footed They Walk, Yet Frail As A Child, As A Dream Set Afloat In The Daylight.

For There Is No Defense For A Man Who, In The Excess Of His Wealth, Has Kicked The Great Altar Of Justice Out Of Sight.