Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Aries in his many fits knows no favorites.
Life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor
Shoulder-to-shoulder, swing to the work, we must - just two as we are - if we hope to make some headway. The worst cowards, banded together, have their power, but you and I have got the skill to fight their best.
I am so smart. I am so smart. I am so smart. S-M-R-T ... Uh, I mean S-M-A-R-T.
It is wrong to be sorry without ceasing.