Clanless, Lawless, Homeless Is He Who Is

It Is Not Strength, But Art, Obtains The Prize, And To Be Swift Is Less Than To Be Wise.

Bear Patiently, My Heart, For You Have Suffered Heavier Things.

So It Is That The Gods Do Not Give All Men Gifts Of Grace - Neither Good Looks Nor Intelligence Nor Eloquence.

Oh, My Tattered Rags Are Caught On Your Coffee Table.

The Leader, Mingling With The Vulgar Host, Is In The Common Mass Of Matter Lost.