So bitter is it, death is little more.
They yearn for what they fear for.
Come on, shake off the covers of this sloth, for sitting softly cushioned, or tucked in bed, is no way to win fame.
Let us go, for the length of our journey demands it.
A great flame follows a little spark.
For he, who sees a need, but waits to be asked, is already set on cruel refusal.