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.

Excessive fear is always powerless.

As long as there are men the bulwark is safe.

Honor modesty more than your life.

In the lack of judgment great harm arises, but one vote cast can set right a house.

On me the tempest falls. It does not make me tremble. O holy Mother Earth, O air and sun, behold me. I am wronged.

Words are healers of the sick tempered.