I, for one, know of no sweeter sight for a man's eyes than his own country.

Let him submit to me! Only the god of death is so relentless, Death submits to no one—so mortals hate him most of all the gods. Let him bow down to me! I am the greater king, I am the elder-born, I claim—the greater man.

Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.

I've finally tapped into that spirit of self-destruction that makes rock-n-roll the king of music!

Friend, many and many a dream is mere confusion a cobweb of no consequence at all. Two gates for ghostly dreams there are: One gateway of honest horn, and one of ivory. Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams of glimmering illusion, fantasies, but those that come through solid polished horn may be borne out, if mortals only know them.

Be still my heart; thou hast known worse than this.

Men in their generations are like the leaves of the trees. The wind blows and one year's leaves are scattered on the ground; but the trees burst into bud and put on fresh ones when the spring comes round.