No Season Now For Calm, Familiar Talk.

The Chance Of War Is Equal, And The Slayer Oft Is Slain.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Life And Death Are Balanced As It Were On The Edge Of A Razor

In Youth And Beauty, Wisdom Is But Rare!

He Lives Not Long Who Battles With The Immortals, Nor Do His Children Prattle About His Knees When He Has Come Back From Battle And The Dread Fray.