What greater glory attends a man than what he wins with his racing feet and his striving hands?
A generation of men is like a generation of leaves; the wind scatters some leaves upon the ground, while others the burgeoning wood brings forth - and the season of spring comes on. So of men one generation springs forth and another ceases.
I long for home, long for the sight of home.
One who contends with immortals lives a very short life.
No TV and no beer makes Homer something something.
Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.