The lot of man-to suffer and die.

Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.

There is no greater glory that can befall a man that what he achieves with the speed of his feet or the strength of his hands.

Of men who have a sense of honor, more come through alive than are slain, but from those who flee comes neither glory nor any help.

If you serve too many masters, you'll soon suffer.

How delicate her feet who shuns the ground, Stepping a-tiptoe on the heads of men.

Thou shalt not horn in on thy husbands racket