There is no fouler fiend than a woman when her mind is bent to evil.
Modesty is of no use to a beggar.
Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
Everything flows and nothing stays.
By turns the nine delight to sing.
Who ne’er knew salt, or heard the billows roar.
Evil deeds do not prosper; the slow man catches up with the swift.
How delicate her feet who shuns the ground, Stepping a-tiptoe on the heads of men.
The force of union conquers all.
The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.
Over the wine-dark sea.
No trust is to be placed in women.
Nothing feebler does earth nurture than man, Of all things breathing and moving.
A young man is embarrassed to question an older one.
Oh, my tattered rags are caught on your coffee table.
Young people are thoughtless as a rule.
I would rather be a serf in a poor man’s house and be above ground than reign among the dead.
All men have need of the gods.
For I am yearning to visit the limits of the all-nurturing Earth, and Oceans, from whom the gods are sprung.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.