Aries in his many fits knows no favorites.
I want answers now or I want them eventually!
Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
Do not mourn the dead with the belly.
And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself-more birds than women flocking round his body!
And when long years and seasons wheeling brought around that point of time ordained for him to make his passage homeward, trials and dangers, even so, attended him even in Ithaca, near those he loved.