And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself-more birds than women flocking round his body!

A hunter of shadows, himself a shade.

Young men's minds are always changeable, but when an old man is concerned in a matter, he looks both before and after.

All men have need of the gods.

Is he not sacred, even to the gods, the wandering man who comes in weariness?

Do thou restrain the haughty spirit in thy breast, for better far is gentle courtesy.

I won't lie to you, fatherhood isn't easy like motherhood.