The Man Who Sticks It Out Against

Cleverness Is Not Wisdom. And Not To Think Mortal Thoughts Is To See Few Days.

He Is Life's Liberating Force. He Is Release Of Limbs And Communion Through Dance. He Is Laughter, And Music In Flutes. He Is Repose From All Cares -- He Is Sleep! When His Blood Bursts From The Grape And Flows Across Tables Laid In His Honor To Fuse With Our Blood, He Gently, Gradually, Wraps Us In Shadows Of Ivy-cool Sleep.

Give A Wise Man An Honest Brief To Plead And His Eloquence Is No Remarkable Achievement.

I Know Indeed What Evil I Intend To Do, But Stronger Than All My Afterthoughts Is My Fury, Fury That Brings Upon Mortals The Greatest Evils.

High Honors Are Sweet To A Man's Heart, But Ever They Stand Close To The Brink Of Grief.