Generations of men are like the leaves. In winter, winds blow them down to earth, but then, when spring season comes again, the budding wood grows more. And so with men: one generation grows, another dies away.

But you can't stop at one, you wanna drink another woman!

One rogue leads another.

The other day, I was so desperate for a beer, I snuck into the football stadium and ate the dirt under the bleachers.

Not vain the weakest, if their force unite.

Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.

All men have need of the gods.