All Men Owe Honor To The Poets

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

It [revenge] Is Sweeter Far Than Flowing Honey.

Still, We Will Let All This Be A Thing Of The Past, Though It Hurts Us, And Beat Down By Constraint The Anger That Rises Inside Us. Now I Am Making An End Of My Anger. It Does Not Become Me, Unrelentingly To Rage On

[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.

Everything Is More Beautiful Because We're Doomed. You Will Never Be Lovelier Than You Are Now. We Will Never Be Here Again.