In Every Tyrant's Heart There

Nought Is There In Wealth That Serves As Bulwark 'gainst The Subtle Stealth Of Destiny And Doom.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

For Somehow This Is Tyranny's Disease, To Trust No Friends.

Honor Modesty More Than Your Life.

The Reward Of Suffering Is Experience