For Know That No One Is Free,

It Is Like A Woman Indeed To Take Rapture Before The Fact Is Shown For True. They Believe Too Easily, Are Too Quick To Shift From Ground To Ground; And Swift Indeed The Rumor Voiced By A Woman Dies Again.

I Have Learned To Hate All Traitors, And There Is No Disease That I Spit On More Than Treachery.

The Field Of Doom Bears Death As Its Harvest.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

It Is Easy When We Are In Prosperity To Give Advice To The Afflicted.