It is wrong to sorrow without ceasing.

Ah how shameless – the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone they say come all their miseries yes but they themselves with their own reckless ways compound their pains beyond their proper share.

Ah, beer, my one weakness. My Achille's heel, if you will.

Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you - it’s born with us the day that we are born.

I am a part of all that I have met. Yet, experience is an arch wherethro gleams that untravl'd world whose margin fades forever and forever when I move.

There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.

But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, for gentle ways are best, and keep aloof from sharp contentions.