None Of Us Can Choose The Manner

I Think Maybe It Is Better To Believe Than Not To Believe. But I Couldn't Tell You Why.

Nothing In Life Is Sure, My Son. Except The Promise Of Death.

A Cynic By Experience, A Romantic By Inclination And Now A Hero By Necessity.

They Dont Understand What Real Treasure Is. They See It In Gold And Copper, And Tin. They See In Herds Of Horses Or Cattle. They Gather Treasures To Themselves, Building Great Storehouses, Which They Guard Ferociously. Then They Die. What Good Is It Then?

Fear Is An Aid To The Warrior. It Is A Small Fire Burning. It Heats The Muscles, Making Us Stronger. Panic Comes When The Fire Is Out Of Control, Consuming All Courage And Pride.