Few Sons Are Equal To Their Fathers;

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

It Is A Wise Child That Knows His Own Father. [lat., Nondum Enim Quisquam Suum Parentem Ipse Cognosvit.]

Of Men Who Have A Sense Of Honor, More Come Through Alive Than Are Slain, But From Those Who Flee Comes Neither Glory Nor Any Help.

A Little Child Born Yesterday A Thing On Mother's Milk And Kisses Fed.

Better To Flee From Death Than Feel Its Grip.