Noblest Minds Are Easiest Bent.

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

Earth Sounds My Wisdom, And High Heaven My Fame.

Oh, My Tattered Rags Are Caught On Your Coffee Table.

Death Submits To No One.

You, Why Are You So Afraid Of War And Slaughter? Even If All The Rest Of Us Drop And Die Around You, Grappling For The Ships, You’d Run No Risk Of Death: You Lack The Heart To Last It Out In Combat—coward!