I warn the marauder dragging plunder, chaotic, rich beyond all rights: he'll strike his sails, harried at long last, stunned when the squalls of torment break his spars to bits.
We shall perish by guile just as we slew.
It is always in season for old men to learn.
Bronze is the mirror of form, wine of the heart.
Better to die on your feet than live on your knees.
High fortune, this in man's eye is god and more than god is this.