A hunter of shadows, himself a shade.
And would'st thou evil for his good repay?
Sweet sleep fell upon his eyelids, unwakeful, most pleasant, the nearest like death.
A sound mind in a manly body.
Few sons are like their fathers - many are worse, few better.
Never to be cast away are the gifts of the gods, magnificent, which they give of their own will, no man could have them for wanting them.