A God Implants In Mortal

For Wherein Is Life Sweet To Him Who Suffers Grief?

No One Can Count The Terrors That The Earth Spawns, Catastrophic, Gruesome, And The Vast Arms Of The Sea Swarm With Brute Monsters Bent On Harm, And Everywhere Between The Sky And Ground Lights Bloom By Day In Flares And Sudden Bolts; And Birds And Beasts Alike Can Tell Of The Whirlwind's Whirling Wrath.

The Evils Of Mortals Are Manifold; Nowhere Is Trouble Of The Same Wing Seen.

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.

It Is A Profitable Thing, If One Is Wise, To Seem Foolish.