May dawn, as the proverb goes, bring happy tidings coming from her mother night.
The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun.
For the lips of Zeus do not know how to lie, but bring to fulfilment every word.
The man whose authority is recent is always stern.
There is advantage in the wisdom won from pain.
Bronze is the mirror of form, wine of the heart.