Dead Men Have No Victory.

We Pay A High Price For Intelligence. Wisdom Hurts.

Lady, The Sun's Light To Our Eyes Is Dear, And Fair The Tranquil Reaches Of The Sea, And Flowery Earth In May, And Bounding Waters; And So Right Many Fair Things I Might Praise; Yet Nothing Is So Radiant And So Fair As For Souls Childless, With Desire Sore-smitten, To See The Light Of Babes About The House.

The Life Of Men Is Painful.

The Fountains Of Sacred Rivers Flow Upwards (i.e., Everything Is Turned Topsy Turvy).

If Some Appalling Disaster Befalls, There's Always A Way For The Rich.