Too Few Rejoice At A Friend's Good

God Planteth In Mortal Men The Cause Of Sin Whensoever He Wills Utterly To Destroy A House.

Only Through Suffering Do We Learn

Against Necessity, Against Its Strength, No One Can Fight And Win.

A Great Ox Stands On My Tongue.

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?