The Blade Itself Incites To Deeds Of

There Is Nothing Worse For Mortals Than A Wandering Life.

What So Tedious As A Twice-told Tale?

Few Sons Are Equal To Their Fathers; Most Fall Short, All Too Few Surpass Them.

Who Ne'er Knew Salt, Or Heard The Billows Roar.

A Generation Of Men Is Like A Generation Of Leaves; The Wind Scatters Some Leaves Upon The Ground, While Others The Burgeoning Wood Brings Forth - And The Season Of Spring Comes On. So Of Men One Generation Springs Forth And Another Ceases.