Even when someone battles hard, there is an equal portion for one who lingers behind, and in the same honor are held both the coward and the brave man; the idle man and he who has done much meet death alike.

How delicate her feet who shuns the ground, Stepping a-tiptoe on the heads of men.

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.

Which would you rather be, a conqueror in the Olympic games, or the crier that proclaims who are conquerors?

Marge, when I join an underground cult I expect a little support from my family.

And woe succeeds woe.

A boy without mischief is like a bowling ball without a liquid center.