All Deaths Are Hateful To Miserable Mortals,

Two Diverse Gates There Are Of Bodiless Dreams, These Of Sawn Ivory, And Those Of Horn. Such Dreams As Issue Where The Ivory Gleams Fly Without Fate, And Turn Our Hopes To Scorn. But Dreams Which Issue Through The Burnished Horn, What Man Soe'er Beholds Them On His Bed, These Work With Virtue And Of Truth Are Born.

Just Once I'd Like Someone To Call Me 'sir' Without Adding 'you're Making A Scene.'

[b]ut It Is Only What Happens, When They Die, To All Mortals. The Sinews No Longer Hold The Flesh And The Bones Together, And Once The Spirit Has Let The White Bones, All The Rest Of The Body Is Made Subject To The Fire's Strong Fury, But The Soul Flitters Out Like A Dream And Flies Away.

But You Can't Stop At One, You Wanna Drink Another Woman!

Noble And Manly Music Invigorates The Spirit, Strengthens The Wavering Man, And Incites Him To Great And Worthy Deeds.