The outcome of the war is in our hands; the outcome of words is in the council.
The gods give to mortals not everything at the same time.
By turns the nine delight to sing
But you can't stop at one, you wanna drink another woman!
And overpowered by memory Both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely For man - killing Hector, throbbing, crouching Before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself, Now for his father, now for Patroclus once again And their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.
All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.