Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death
Thou shalt not take moochers into thy hut?
The lot of man-to suffer and die.
I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.
It [revenge] is sweeter far than flowing honey.
His descent was like nightfall.