Greetings, Friends. Do You Wish To Look

See Now, How Men Lay Blame Upon Us Gods For What Is After All Nothing But Their Own Folly.

Think Not To Match Yourself Against The Gods, For Men That Walk The Earth Cannot Hold Their Own With The Immortals.

Bursts As A Wave That From The Clouds Impends, And Swell'd With Tempests On The Ship Descends; White Are The Decks With Foam; The Winds Aloud Howl O'er The Masts, And Sing Through Every Shroud: Pale, Trembling, Tir'd, The Sailors Freeze With Fears; And Instant Death On Every Wave Appears.

God Help Me, I'm Just Not That Bright.

All Things Are In The Hand Of Heaven, And Folly, Eldest Of Jove's Daughters, Shuts Men's Eyes To Their Destruction. She Walks Delicately, Not On The Solid Earth, But Hovers Over The Heads Of Men To Make Them Stumble Or To Ensnare Them.