Now the gods were seated in assembly by Zeus.
In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryseis and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles.
Then thus the blue-eyed maid: “O full of days!
The child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared.
Human beings have short lives.330 If we are cruel, everyone will curse us during our life, and mock us when we die. The names of those who act with nobleness are brought by travelers across the world, and many people speak about their goodness.
During the daytime I glut myself with sorrow and lament, having my own duties to see to, and my house-maidens’ work: but night falls and the world sleeps. Then I lie in my bed and the swarming cares so assail my inmost heart that I go distraught with misery.
But that’s what kismet is. It makes us careen off in odd directions from which we learn not only what life is about but what it is for. This journey may be nothing less than your chance to discover these things.” “You’re.
The way I see it, if everybody ran from bad things instead of trying to stop them, bad things would be all there is.
We had to start somewhere, either succeed or fail, and then build what we knew as we went along.
Maybe that’s what life is,” Elsie said. “Mysteries atop mysteries. We think we know everything but we don’t know anything, not really.
There’s a plan. If you’re willing to fight it hard enough, you can make it detour for a while, but you’re still going to end up wherever God wants you to be. G.
Anybody raised here belongs here. You can’t belong anywhere else.
It was during a strike when I first saw hate on a man’s face. Hate is an awful thing. It gets inside you and makes you do things you swear you’d never do.
Sometimes now, I wake at night, thinking I have heard the sound of my father’s footsteps on the stairs or the shuffling boots and low murmur of the hoot-owl shift going to work. In that half-world between sleep and wakefulness, I can almost hear the ringing of a hammer on steel and the dry hiss of the arc welder at the little machine shop by the tipple. But it is only a trick of my imagination; nearly everything that I knew in Coalwood is gone.
Even now, Coalwood endures, and no one, nor careless industry or overzealous government, can ever completely destroy it – not while we who once lived there may recall our life among its places, or especially remember rockets that once leapt into the air propelled not by physics but by the vibrant love of an honorable people, and the instruction of a dear teacher, and the dreams of boys.
Nothing on this planet could slink like a fox, Mom said, except maybe a politician in a beer joint.
My agent in Miami told me you were coming. I like to keep up with who’s coming to my island, especially government and railroad men. Typically, I don’t like either one but considering your girl here and your car and the fact that you have an alligator with a rooster on his back, I would guess you might be at least interesting. Name’s Ernest. Some people call me Hem.” After a brief pause he added, “As in Hemingway.” Homer.
Most things take more time than we believe they will. But, now, what about love? Will love take more time than you think?” “I don’t know anything about love.” “That is true,” she agreed. “Yet, every mile you travel on this journey is for this thing you don’t know anything about.” Homer.
Let me find you. If you don’t, I will still look. If you won’t, I will still look. If you can’t, I will still look. It is the looking that finds the love, Not the finding. Homer.
Gods yearn for excitement, and they, like us, can enjoy the thrilling stories and spectacle of war without any risk of death. Like us, they have their own favorite characters, their own preferences and desires. If the gods seem at times cruel, fickle, or indifferent, the same is true of us. Like gods, we love stories about other people’s pain, and we warm our shivering lives with the thrilling deaths that are the subject of the poet’s song.