Black Smoke, The Flickering Sister Of Fire.

Old Men, What Are They? Fast Fading The Leaf, Three-footed They Walk, Yet Frail As A Child, As A Dream Set Afloat In The Daylight.

Only One Accomplishment Is Beyond Both The Power And The Mercy Of The Gods. They Cannot Make The Past As Though It Had Never Been.

For Sufferers It Is Sweet To Know Before-hand Clearly The Pain That Still Remains For Them.

It Is A Light Thing For Whoever Keeps His Foot Outside Trouble To Advise And Counsel Him That Suffers.

In Every Tyrant's Heart There Springs In The End This Poison, That He Cannot Trust A Friend.