Be Strong, Saith My Heart; I Am

Hateful To Me As Are The Gates Of Hell, Is He Who, Hiding One Thing In His Heart, Utters Another.

I Wish That Strife Would Vanish Away From Among Gods And Mortals, And Gall, Which Makes A Man Grow Angry For All His Great Mind, That Gall Of Anger That Swarms Like Smoke Inside Of A Man's Heart And Becomes A Thing Sweeter To Him By Far Than The Dripping Of Honey.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

There Is The Heat Of Love, The Pulsing Rush Of Longing, The Lover’s Whisper, Irresistible—magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad.

True Friends Appear Less Moved Than Counterfeit.