Wrong Must Not Win By Technicalities.

The Evils Of Mortals Are Manifold; Nowhere Is Trouble Of The Same Wing Seen.

Ares Ever Loves To Pluck All The Fairest Flower Of An Armed Host.

But I Must Bear My Destiny As Best I Can, Knowing Well That There Is No Resisting The Strength Of Necessity.

Old Men Are Children Once Again A Dream That Sways And Wavers Into The Hard Light Of Day.

Ask The Gods Nothing Excessive.