Love Is A Boaster At

Alexander, Of Whom Men Tell Many Legends, Lived By His Own. Achilles Must Have Patroklos. He Might Love His Briseis; But Patroklos Was The Friend Till Death. At Their Tombs In Troy, Alexander And Hephaistion Had Sacrificed Together. Wound Patroklos, And Achilles Will Have Your Blood.

I Thought, There Goes My Lord, Whom I Was Born To Follow. I Have Found A King. And, I Said To Myself, Looking After Him As He Walked Away, I Will Have Him, If I Die For It.

Change Is The Sum Of The Universe, And What Is Of Nature Ought Not To Be Feared. But One Gives It Hostages, And Lays One's Grief Upon The Gods. Sokrates Is Free, And Would Have Taught Me Freedom. But I Have Yoked The Immortal Horse That Draws The Chariot With A Horse Of Earth; And When The One Falls, Both Are Entangled In The Traces.

How Can People Trust The Harvest, Unless They See It Sown?

At The Stair-foot Hephaistion Was Waiting. He Happened To Be There, As He Happened To Have A Ball Handy If Alexander Wanted A Game, Or Water If He Was Thirsty; Not By Calculation, But In A Constant Awareness By Which No Smallest Trifle Was Missed. Now, When He Came Down The Stairs With A Shut Mouth And Blue Lines Under His Eyes, Hephaistion Received Some Mute Signal He Understood, And Fell Into Step Beside Him.