“Forever and ever, brother, hail. Forever and ever, farewell.”

“Atque in pepetuum, frater, ave atque vale,” he whispered. The words of the poem had never seemed so fitting: Forever and ever, my brother, hail and farewell.”

“Farewell happy fields,Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“Hail and Farewell, my brother.”

“Historians are left forever chasing shadows, painfully aware of their inability ever to reconstruct a dead world in its completeness however thorough or revealing their documentation. We are doomed to be forever hailing someone who has just gone around the corner and out of earshot.”

“Driven across many nations, across many oceans I am here, my brother, for this final parting,to offer at last those gifts which the dead are givenand to speak in vain to your unspeaking ashes,since bitter fortune forbids you to hear me or answer,O my wretched brother, so abruptly taken!But now I must celebrate grief with funeral tributesoffered the dead in the ancient way of the fathers;accept these presents, wet with my brotherly tears, andnow and forever, my brother, hail and farewell.”