Rumours Voiced By Women Come To Nothing.

Old Men, What Are They? Fast Fading The Leaf, Three-footed They Walk, Yet Frail As A Child, As A Dream Set Afloat In The Daylight.

As Long As There Are Men The Bulwark Is Safe.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.

On Him Who Wields Power Gently, The God Looks Favorably From Afar.

Of Prosperity Mortals Can Never Have Enough.