Ye Waves That O'er Th' Interminable Ocean

But I Will Place This Carefully Fed Pig Within The Crackling Oven; And, I Pray, What Nicer Dish Can E'er Be Given To Man.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

There Is Advantage In The Wisdom Won From Pain.

To Be Free From Evil Thoughts Is God's Best Gift.

When The Black And Mortal Blood Of Man Has Fallen To The Ground ... Who Then Can Sing Spells To Call It Back Again?