Into The Eternal Darkness, Into Fire And

Into The Eternal Darkness, Into Fire And Into Ice.

At Grief So Deep The Tongue Must Wag In Vain; The Language Of Our Sense And Memory Lacks The Vocabulary Of Such Pain.

Fate's Arrow, When Expected, Travels Slow.

Consider Your Origins: You Were Not Made To Live As Brutes, But To Follow Virtue And Knowledge.

Lying In A Featherbed Will Bring You No Fame, Nor Staying Beneath The Quilt, And He Who Uses Up His Life Without Achieving Fame Leaves No More Vestige Of Himself On Earth Than Smoke In The Air Or Foam Upon The Water.