The melancholy joys of evils pass'd, For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.

Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.

Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.

The tongue of man is a twisty thing.

No trust is to be placed in women.

Why have you come to me here, dear heart, with all these instructions? I promise you I will do everything just as you ask. But come closer. Let us give in to grief, however briefly, in each other's arms.

…but there they lay, sprawled across the field, craved far more by the vultures than by wives.