Alex, when I watch the seasons turn upon my own fields and see men rise to power only to fade into smoke like Fabius Catulinus in the field, I find comfort not in fearing the storm but in knowing all is turned to ashes and a mere fable. “All is turned to smoke; all to ashes, and a mere fable.” Let this truth steady you when summer storms must go under, for nothing of our vehement prosecution remains except justly carried actions.