You, why are you so afraid of war and slaughter? Even if all the rest of us drop and die around you, grappling for the ships, you’d run no risk of death: you lack the heart to last it out in combat—coward!

The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.

Never to be cast away are the gifts of the gods, magnificent, which they give of their own will, no man could have them for wanting them.

No trust is to be placed in women.

Look now how mortals are blaming the gods, for they say that evils come from us, but in fact they themselves have woes beyond their share because of their own follies.

Wine sets even a thoughtful man to singing, or sets him into softly laughing, sets him to dancing. Sometimes it tosses out a word that was better unspoken.

And they die an equal death — the idler and the man of mighty deeds.