There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.
Aries in his many fits knows no favorites.
Wine can of their wits the wise beguile, Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile
Even were sleep is concerned, too much is a bad thing.
All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.
Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy.