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.

Mourn for me rather as living than as dead.

Only one accomplishment is beyond both the power and the mercy of the Gods. They cannot make the past as though it had never been.

And though all streams flow from a single course to cleanse the blood from polluted hand, they hasten on their course in vain.

Ares gives his verdict without witnesses.

For a murderous blow let murderous blow atone.

There is no sickness worse for me than words that to be kind must lie.