O Virtue, I Have Followed You Through

What Anger Worse Or Slower To Abate Then Lovers Love When It Turns To Hate.

The Nobly Born Must Nobly Meet His Fate.

He Is Life's Liberating Force. He Is Release Of Limbs And Communion Through Dance. He Is Laughter, And Music In Flutes. He Is Repose From All Cares -- He Is Sleep! When His Blood Bursts From The Grape And Flows Across Tables Laid In His Honor To Fuse With Our Blood, He Gently, Gradually, Wraps Us In Shadows Of Ivy-cool Sleep.

To A Father Waxing Old, Nothing Is Dearer Than A Daughter; Sons Have Spirits Of A Higher Pitch, But Less Inclined To Endearing Fondness.

There Is Desire In Those Who Love To Hear About Their Loved Ones' Pains.