Be It Mine To Draw From Wisdom's

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

The High Strength Of Men Knows No Content With Limitation.

Necessity Is Stronger Far Than Art.

The Anvil Of Justice Is Planted Firm, And Fate Who Makes The Sword Does The Forging In Advance.

In War, Truth Is The First Casualty.