Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The

In Every Tyrant's Heart There Springs In The End This Poison, That He Cannot Trust A Friend.

My Will Is Mine...i Shall Not Make It Soft For You.

They Sent Forth Men To Battle, But No Such Men Return; And Home, To Claim Their Welcome, Come Ashes In An Urn

For In The Voyage Of The Heart, There Is A Freight Of Hatred, And The Wind Of Wrath Blows Shrill.

We Must Pronounce Him Fortunate Who Has Ended His Life In Fair Prosperity.