Human Prosperity Never Rests But Always Craves

Once To Die Is Better Than Length Of Days In Sorrow Without End.

The Great And Amorous Sky Curved Over The Earth, And Lay Upon Her As A Pure Lover. The Rain, The Humid Flux Descending From Heaven For Both Man And Animal, For Both Thick And Strong, Germinated The Wheat, Swelled The Furrows With Fecund Mud And Brought Forth The Buds In The Orchards. And It Is I Who Empowered These Moist Espousals, I The Great Aphrodite.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.

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

Making It A Valid Law To Learn By Suffering.