Light is the task where many share the toil.

For they imagined as they wished--that it was a wild shot,/ an unintended killing--fools, not to comprehend/ they were already in the grip of death./ But glaring under his brows Odysseus answered: 'You yellow dogs, you thought I'd never make it/ home from the land of Troy. You took my house to plunder,/ twisted my maids to serve your beds. You dared/ bid for my wife while I was still alive./ Contempt was all you had for the gods who rule wide heaven,/ contempt for what men say of you hereafter./ Your last hour has come. You die in blood.

If any man obeys the gods, they listen to him also.

He lives not long who battles with the immortals, nor do his children prattle about his knees when he has come back from battle and the dread fray.

The tongue of man is a twisty thing.

One who contends with immortals lives a very short life.

True friends appear less moved than counterfeit.