Ah how shameless – the way these mortals blame the gods. From us alone they say come all their miseries yes but they themselves with their own reckless ways compound their pains beyond their proper share.

And not a man appears to tell their fate.

It is always the latest song that an audience applauds the most.

It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death all things appear fair.

Fear, O Achilles, the wrath of heaven; think on your own father and have compassion upon me, who am the more pitiable

For too much rest becomes a pain.

Each man delights in the work that suits him best.