Thou shalt not take moochers into thy hut?

Shoulder-to-shoulder, swing to the work, we must - just two as we are - if we hope to make some headway. The worst cowards, banded together, have their power, but you and I have got the skill to fight their best.

Do not beg me by knees or by parents you dog! I only wish I were savagely wrathful enough to hack up your corpse and eat it raw

For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.

His native home deep imag'd in his soul.

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.

The skin of the coward changes color all the time, he can't get a grip on himself, he can't sit still, he squats and rocks, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his heart racing, pounding inside the fellow's ribs, his teeth chattering. He dreads some grisly death. But the skin of a brave soldier never blanches. He's all control. Tense but no great fear.