Our souls are but leaves in a storm, and only the gods know where we will come to rest.
No man should ever completely realize his dreams. What else would there then be to live for?
You are a Chosen Man. You are Parmenion, the Death of Nations. A hundred thousand souls will you send to the dark river, screaming and wailing, lamenting their fate. It is right and just that you should know your choices.
Do not complain of life's unfairness. It is never fair - at best it is impartial.
Risks? I have lived with the prospect of assassination for years. What risks? All men die, rich and poor alike. But if I am to die, then let it be while I fight, not like some bullock in a pen waiting for the ax to fall.
