The Blade Itself Incites To Deeds Of

Like A Girl, A Baby Running After Her Mother, Begging To Be Picked Up, And She Tugs On Her Skirts, Holding Her Back As She Tries To Hurry Off—all Tears, Fawning Up At Her, Till She Takes Her In Her Arms… That’s How You Look, Patroclus, Streaming Live Tears.

Fear, O Achilles, The Wrath Of Heaven; Think On Your Own Father And Have Compassion Upon Me, Who Am The More Pitiable

Victory Passes Back And Forth Between Men.

There Is No Greater Fame For A Man Than That Which He Wins With His Footwork Or The Skill Of His Hands.

Beauty- It Was A Glorious Gift Of Nature.