I Think That For The Coward Every

They Dont Understand What Real Treasure Is. They See It In Gold And Copper, And Tin. They See In Herds Of Horses Or Cattle. They Gather Treasures To Themselves, Building Great Storehouses, Which They Guard Ferociously. Then They Die. What Good Is It Then?

A Cynic By Experience, A Romantic By Inclination And Now A Hero By Necessity.

I Would Have Offered You A Forest Of Truth, But You Wish To Speak Of A Single Leaf

Blood Always Aids Blood, My Friend.

A Man Must Know His Limitations.