Time Waxing Old Can Many A Lesson

A Prosperous Fool Is A Grievous Burden.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

The Truth Has To Be Melted Out Of Our Stubborn Lives By Suffering. Nothing Speaks The Truth, Nothing Tells Us How Things Really Are, Nothing Forces Us To Know What We Do Not Want To Know Except Pain. And This Is How The Gods Declare Their Love.

The So-called Mother Of The Child Isn't The Child's Begetter, But Only A Sort Of Nursing Soil For The New-sown Seed. The Man, The One On Top, Is The True Parent, While She, A Stranger, Foster's A Stranger's Sprout.

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