Only Through Suffering Do We Learn

Once To Die Is Better Than Length Of Days In Sorrow Without End.

For In The Voyage Of The Heart, There Is A Freight Of Hatred, And The Wind Of Wrath Blows Shrill.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

But When Once The Earth Has Sucked Up A Dead Man's Blood, There Is No Way To Raise Him Up.

Wisdom Comes Alone Through Suffering.