Two urns on Jove’s high throne have ever stood, the source of evil one, and one of good; from thence the cup of mortal man he fills, blessings to these, to those distributes ills; to most he mingles both.
Aries in his many fits knows no favorites.
All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove’s daughters, shuts men’s eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.
I have no interest at all in food and drink, but only in slaughter and blood and the agonized groans of mangled men.
Do not beg me by knees or by parents you dog! I only wish I were savagely wrathful enough to hack up your corpse and eat it raw.
Is he not sacred, even to the gods, the wandering man who comes in weariness?
They did not know her-gods are hard for mortals to recognize.
You, why are you so afraid of war and slaughter? Even if all the rest of us drop and die around you, grappling for the ships, you’d run no risk of death: you lack the heart to last it out in combat – coward!
Let him submit to me! Only the god of death is so relentless, Death submits to no one – so mortals hate him most of all the gods. Let him bow down to me! I am the greater king, I am the elder-born, I claim – the greater man.
Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you – it’s born with us the day that we are born.
And for yourself, may the gods grant you your heart’s desire, a husband and a home, and the blessing of a harmonious life. For nothing is greater or finer than this, when a man and woman live together with one hear and mind, bringing joy to their friends and grief to their foes.
The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.
Even the bravest cannot fight beyond his power.
It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death all things appear fair.
But listen to me first and swear an oath to use all your eloquence and strength to look after me and protect me.
His descent was like nightfall.
He knew how to say many false things that were like true sayings.
By hook or by crook this peril too shall be something that we remember.
And when long years and seasons wheeling brought around that point of time ordained for him to make his passage homeward, trials and dangers, even so, attended him even in Ithaca, near those he loved.
I say no wealth is worth my life.