Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The

So In The Libyan Fable It Is Told That Once An Eagle, Stricken With A Dart, Said, When He Saw The Fashion Of The Shaft: With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.

Wisdom Cometh By Suffering.

I, Schooled In Misery, Know Many Purifying Rites, And I Know Where Speech Is Proper And Where Silence.

Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine Of The Heart.

The Reward Of Pain Is Experience.