When War Begins, Then Hell Openeth.

Neither Eyes On Letters, Nor Hands In Coffers.

Take The Gentle Path.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

In A Retreat The Lame Are Formost. [in A Retreat The Lame Are Foremost.]

A Faire Death Honours The Whole Life.