Now from his breast into the eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big serf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.

Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me, For sacred ev'n to gods is misery.

The charity that is a trifle to us can be precious to others.

All men have need of the gods.

The fates have given mankind a patient soul.

Too many kings can ruin an army

The tongue of man is a twisty thing, there are plenty of words there of every kind.