User:Alexeyperlov/Gallery

Thou Turkish Devil, spawn of Satan art thee!	For he had smitten his son, his dearest son, and he could not reverse it.
The taller they stand...	...the harder they fall.
Victorious reigned we, the People.	Each man cried for his mother.
Thunder, hail, and fire rained down from Heaven.	And so the Saint gave mercy.
The betrayal of a son, a theme among Tsars.	He knew it would be Judas.
A nobleman in England; a Saint among men.	Here comes the grim Rook, with the earliest spring.
I only smoked the baccy-pipe, and the bitter Turkish tobacco.	He fought the Temptation, every and each time.
The murder of its priest was the coup de grâce to the city of Liège.	One of the few cases of true divine mandate, Saint Louis of France.