It Is An Ill Thing To Be

This Is The Law: Blood Spilt Upon The Ground Cries Out For More.

Sweet Is A Grief Well Ended.

I Willingly Speak To Those Who Know, But For Those Who Do Not Know I Forget.

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.

Happiness Is A Choice That Requires Effort At Times.