Not Vain The Weakest, If Their Force

All Things Are In The Hand Of Heaven, And Folly, Eldest Of Jove's Daughters, Shuts Men's Eyes To Their Destruction. She Walks Delicately, Not On The Solid Earth, But Hovers Over The Heads Of Men To Make Them Stumble Or To Ensnare Them.

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.

If You Don't Like Your Job, You Don't Strike! You Just Go In Every Day, And Do It Really Half Assed. That's The American Way.

Now From His Breast Into The Eyes The Ache Of Longing Mounted, And He Wept At Last, His Dear Wife, Clear And Faithful, In His Arms, Longed For As The Sunwarmed Earth Is Longed For By A Swimmer Spent In Rough Water Where His Ship Went Down Under Poseidon's Blows, Gale Winds And Tons Of Sea. Few Men Can Keep Alive Through A Big Serf To Crawl, Clotted With Brine, On Kindly Beaches In Joy, In Joy, Knowing The Abyss Behind: And So She Too Rejoiced, Her Gaze Upon Her Husband, Her White Arms Round Him Pressed As Though Forever.

Strife And Confusion Joined The Fight, Along With Cruel Death, Who Seized One Wounded Man While Still Alive And Then Another Man Without A Wound, While Pulling The Feet Of One More Corpse Out From The Fight. The Clothes Death Wore Around Her Shoulders Were Dyed Red With Human Blood.