All The Survivors Of The War Had

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

After The Event, Even A Fool Is Wise.

I Too Shall Lie In The Dust When I Am Dead, But Now Let Me Win Noble Renown.

In Saffron-colored Mantle From The Tides Of Oceans Rose The Morning To Bright Light To Gods And Men.

Restrain Yourself... And Gloat In Silence. I'll Have No Jubilation Here. It Is An Impious Thing To Exult Over The Slain.