A Man Is At His Youngest When

Death Was The Price Of Life.

All Tragedies Deal With Fated Meetings; How Else Could There Be A Play? Fate Deals Its Stroke; Sorrow Is Purged, Or Turned To Rejoicing; There Is Death, Or Triumph; There Has Been A Meeting, And A Change. No One Will Ever Make A Tragedy - And That Is As Well, For One Could Not Bear It - Whose Grief Is That The Principals Never Met.

One Might Have Supposed That The True Act Of Love Was To Lie Together And Talk.

At The Stair-foot Hephaistion Was Waiting. He Happened To Be There, As He Happened To Have A Ball Handy If Alexander Wanted A Game, Or Water If He Was Thirsty; Not By Calculation, But In A Constant Awareness By Which No Smallest Trifle Was Missed. Now, When He Came Down The Stairs With A Shut Mouth And Blue Lines Under His Eyes, Hephaistion Received Some Mute Signal He Understood, And Fell Into Step Beside Him.

There Is Nothing Like Despair To Make One Throw Oneself Upon The Gods.