Out Of Respect, A Man Must Veil

Call No Man Happy Till He Is Dead.

Be It Mine To Draw From Wisdom's Fount, Pure As It Flows, That Calm Of Soul Which Virtue Only Knows.

Of All The Gods, Death Only Craves Not Gifts: Nor Sacrifice, Nor Yet Drink-offering Poured Avails; No Altars Hath He, Nor Is Soothed By Hymns Of Praise. From Him Alone Of All The Powers Of Heaven Persuasion Holds Aloof.

It Is Not The Oath That Makes Us Believe The Man, But The Man The Oath.

This Is A Sickness Rooted And Inherent In The Nature Of A Tyranny: That He That Holds It Does Not Trust His Friends.