Time, Waxing Old, Doth All Things Purify.

And Now It Goes As It Goes And Where It Ends Is Fate. And Neither By Singeing Flesh Nor Tipping Cups Of Wine Nor Shedding Burning Tears Can You Enchant Away The Rigid Fury.

Self-will In The Man Who Does Not Reckon Wisely Is By Itself The Weakest Of All Things.

For This Our Task Hath Fate Spun Without Fail To Last For Ever Sure, That We On Man Weighed Down With Deeds Of Hate Should Follow Till The Earth His Life Immure. Nor When He Dies Can He Boast Of Being Truly Free.

Success Is Man's God.

The Words Of Truth Are Simple.