Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?
It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
Accurst be he that first invented war.
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?