It is a light thing for whoever keeps his foot outside trouble to advise and counsel him that suffers.
Art is far feebler than necessity.
For somehow this is tyranny's disease, to trust no friends.
Old men are always young enough to learn with profit.
I warn the marauder dragging plunder, chaotic, rich beyond all rights: he'll strike his sails, harried at long last, stunned when the squalls of torment break his spars to bits.
I pray for no more youth To perish before its prime; That Revenge and iron-heated War May fade with all that has gone before Into the night of time.