Come, Friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so? Even Patroclus died, a far, far better man than you. And look, you see how handsome and powerful I am? The son of a great man, the mother who gave me life-- A deathless goddess. But even for me, I tell you, Death and the strong force of fate are waiting. There will come a dawn or sunset or high noon When a man will take my life in battle too-- flinging a spear perhaps Or whipping a deadly arrow off his bow.

You can't go wrong with cocktail weenies. They look as good as they taste. And they come in this delicious red sauce. It looks like ketchup, it tastes like ketchup, but brother, it ain't ketchup!

Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.

Wine gives strength to weary men.

Tell me, O muse, of travellers far and wide

The windy satisfaction of the tongue.

Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.