The gods give to mortals not everything at the same time.
Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
We mortals hear only the news, and know nothing at all.
All strangers and beggars are from Zeus, and a gift, though small, is precious.
Many shining actions owe their success to chance, though the general or statesman receive the applause.
The tongue of man is a twisty thing, there are plenty of words there of every kind.