A man dies not for the many wounds that pierce his breast, unless it be that life’s end keep pace with death, nor by sitting on his hearth at home doth he the more escape his appointed doom.
Unjustly men hate death, which is the greatest defence against their many ills.
If you will take me as your teacher, you will not kick against the pricks.
Yet though a man gets many wounds in breast, He dieth not, unless the appointed time, The limit of his life’s span, coincide; Nor does the man who by the hearth at home Sits still, escape the doom that Fate decrees.
Fear hurries on my tongue through want of courage.
Oaths are not the credit of men but men of oaths.
For the lips of Zeus do not know how to lie, but bring to fulfilment every word.
When a tongue fails to send forth appropriate shafts, there might be a word to act as healer of these.
But when once the earth has sucked up a dead man’s blood, there is no way to raise him up.
Know yourself and fit yourself to new fashions. For there is a new ruler among the gods.
For know that no one is free, except Zeus.
But I must bear my destiny as best I can, knowing well that there is no resisting the strength of necessity.
Making it a valid law to learn by suffering.
For wherein is life sweet to him who suffers grief?
To be fortunate is God, and more than God to mortals.
Number, the most excellent of all inventions.
As long as there are men the bulwark is safe.
Many among men are they who set high the show of honor, yet break justice.
But let the good prevail.
Misfortune wandering the same track lights now upon one and now upon another.