I would rather be a serf in a poor man's house and be above ground than reign among the dead.

Over the wine-dark sea.

Boy, those Germans have a word for everything!

It [revenge] is sweeter far than flowing honey.

Still, we will let all this be a thing of the past, though it hurts us, and beat down by constraint the anger that rises inside us. Now I am making an end of my anger. It does not become me, unrelentingly to rage on

Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That’s how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.

To have a great man for an intimate friend seems pleasant to those who have never tried it; those who have, fear it.