No Trust Is To Be

There Is No Greater Glory That Can Befall A Man That What He Achieves With The Speed Of His Feet Or The Strength Of His Hands.

And By The Sacred Parchment, I Swear That If I Reveal The Secrets Of The Stonecutters, May My Stomach Become Bloated And My Head Be Plucked Of All But Three Hairs

The Melancholy Joys Of Evils Pass'd, For He Who Much Has Suffer'd, Much Will Know.

Don't Mess With The Dead, Boy, They Have Eerie Powers.

A Little Child Born Yesterday A Thing On Mother's Milk And Kisses Fed.