The Rule Of The Many Is Not

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.

Wine Give Strenght To Weary Men. And And Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile. Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile. And Let Those Who Drink Not, But Austerely Dine, Dry Up In Law; The Muses Smell Of Wine. And No Poem Was Ever Written By A Drinker Of Water. And Bacchus Opens The Gate Of The Heart. And Might To Inspire New Hopes And Powerful To Drown The Bitterness Of Cares.

Let Him Submit To Me! Only The God Of Death Is So Relentless, Death Submits To No One—so Mortals Hate Him Most Of All The Gods. Let Him Bow Down To Me! I Am The Greater King, I Am The Elder-born, I Claim—the Greater Man.

We're Goin Bowling. If We Don't Come Back, Avenge Our Deaths.

Shame Greatly Hurts Or Greatly Helps Mankind.