Soon all of you immortals Will be as dead as we are! Come on then, what are you waiting for? Have you run out of thunderbolts?
When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor, no worthiness.
To the ignorant, even the words of wise seem foolishness.
To die with glory, if one has to die at all, is still, I think, pain for the dier.
Oh, what a vileness human beauty is; corroding, corrupting everything it touches.
Arm yourself, my heart: the thing that you must do is fearful, yet inevitable.