Art Is Far Feebler Than Necessity.

I Have Learned To Hate All Traitors, And There Is No Disease That I Spit On More Than Treachery.

On Me The Tempest Falls. It Does Not Make Me Tremble. O Holy Mother Earth, O Air And Sun, Behold Me. I Am Wronged.

Many Among Men Are They Who Set High The Show Of Honor, Yet Break Justice.

Justice, Voiceless, Unseen, Seeth Thee When Thou Sleepest And When Thou Goest Forth And When Thou Liest Down. Continually Doth She Attend Thee, Now Aslant Thy Course, Now At A Later Time. These Lines Are From A Section Of Doubtful Or Spurious Fragments.

This Is A Sickness Rooted And Inherent In The Nature Of A Tyranny: That He That Holds It Does Not Trust His Friends.