Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine

Misfortune Wandering The Same Track Lights Now Upon One And Now Upon Another.

If You Will Take Me As Your Teacher, You Will Not Kick Against The Pricks.

The Holy Heaven Yearns To Wound The Earth, And Yearning Layeth Hold On The Earth To Join In Wedlock; The Rain, Fallen From The Amorous Heaven, Impregnates The Earth, And It Bringeth Forth For Mankind The Food Of Flocks And Herds And Demeter's Gifts; And From That Moist Marriage-rite The Woods Put On Their Bloom.

The Future You Shall Know When It Has Come; Before Then, Forget It.

Once To Die Is Better Than Length Of Days In Sorrow Without End.