I'll Get Out Of This City Alive,

If You Serve Too Many Masters, You'll Soon Suffer.

The Generation Of Mankind Is Like The Generation Of Leaves. The Wind Scatters The Leaves On The Ground, But The Living Tree Burgeons With Leaves Again In The Spring.

A Hunter Of Shadows, Himself A Shade.

Few Sons Attain The Praise Of Their Great Sires And Most Their Sires Disgrace.

Bad Herdsmen Waste The Flocks Which Thou Hast Left Behind.