A Sharp Spear Needs No Polish.

The Great Wheel Of Fate Rolls On Like A Juggernaut, And Crushes Us All In Turn, Some Soon, Some Late

Time After Time Have Nations, Ay, And Rich And Strong Nations, Learned In The Arts, Been, And Passed Away To Be Forgotten, So That No Memory Of Them Remains. This Is But One Of Several; For Time Eats Up The Works Of Man.

Women Love The Last Blow As Well As The Last Word, And When They Fight For Love They Are Pitiless As A Wounded Buffalo.

The Food That Memory Gives To Eat Is Bitter To The Taste, And It Is Only With The Teeth Of Hope That We Can Bear To Bite It.

We Were Like Confirmed Opium-eaters: In Our Moments Of Reason We Well Knew The Deadly Nature Of Our Pursuit, But We Certainly Were Not Prepared To Abandon Its Terrible Delights.