Courage! Suffering, When It Climbs Highest, Lasts

We Spoil Ourselves With Scruples Long As Things Go Well.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.

Report Uttered By The People Is Everywhere Of Great Power.

Of All The Gods, Death Only Craves Not Gifts: Nor Sacrifice, Nor Yet Drink-offering Poured Avails; No Altars Hath He, Nor Is Soothed By Hymns Of Praise. From Him Alone Of All The Powers Of Heaven Persuasion Holds Aloof.

Everyone's Quick To Blame The Alien.