All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.
Earth sounds my wisdom, and high heaven my fame.
I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown.
All right, let's not panic. I'll make the money by selling one of my livers. I can get by with one.
The sun rose on the flawless brimming sea into a sky all brazen-all one brightening for gods immortal and for mortal men on plowlands kind with grain.
She sent him a warm and gentle wind, and Lord Odysseus was happy as he set his sails to catch the breeze. He sat beside the steering oar and used his skill to steer the raft.