I've always wondered if there was a God. And now I know there is -- and it's me.

Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say that we devise their misery. But they themselves- in their depravity- design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.

It is not possible to fight beyond your strength, even if you strive.

I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown.

Why cover the same ground again? ... It goes against my grain to repeat a tale told once, and told so clearly.

Strife and Confusion joined the fight, along with cruel Death, who seized one wounded man while still alive and then another man without a wound, while pulling the feet of one more corpse out from the fight. The clothes Death wore around her shoulders were dyed red with human blood.

It is wrong to be sorry without ceasing.