It's A Man's Jobno Place For Women's

There Is No Pain So Great As The Memory Of Joy In Present Grief.

They Sent Forth Men To Battle, But No Such Men Return; And Home, To Claim Their Welcome, Come Ashes In An Urn

Only One Accomplishment Is Beyond Both The Power And The Mercy Of The Gods. They Cannot Make The Past As Though It Had Never Been.

Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine Of The Heart.

Justice Inclines Her Scales So That Wisdom Comes At The Price Of Suffering.