The Single Best Augury Is To Fight

What Mighty Woes To Thy Imperial Race From Woman Rose.

No Man Or Woman Born, Coward Or Brave, Can Shun His Destiny.

The Gods, Likening Themselves To All Kinds Of Strangers, Go In Various Disguises From City To City, Observing The Wrongdoing And The Righteousness Of Men.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

I War Not With The Dead.