From A Small Seed A

Truly Even He Errs That Is Wiser Than The Wise.

Truly Upon Mortals Cometh Swift Of Foot Their Evil And His Offence Upon Him That Trespasseth Against Right.

May Dawn, As The Proverb Goes, Bring Happy Tidings Coming From Her Mother Night.

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.

It Is The Nature Of Mortals To Kick A Fallen Man.