Know from the bounteous heaven all riches flow.

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

All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.

A gun is not a weapon! It's a tool, like a butcher's knife, or a harpoon, or an alligator.

There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.

But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, for gentle ways are best, and keep aloof from sharp contentions.

It's disgraceful how these humans blame the gods. They say their tribulations come from us, when they themselves, through their own foolishness, bring hardships which are not decreed by Fate.