Not at all similar are the race of the immortal gods and the race of men who walk upon the earth.
Nothing shall I, while sane, compare with a friend.
Ah, beer, my one weakness. My Achille's heel, if you will.
A man dies still if he has done nothing, as one who has done much.
Strife and Confusion joined the fight, along with cruel Death, who seized one wounded man while still alive and then another man without a wound, while pulling the feet of one more corpse out from the fight. The clothes Death wore around her shoulders were dyed red with human blood.
I have no interest at all in food and drink, but only in slaughter and blood and the agonized groans of mangled men