Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Nor can one word be chang'd but for a worse.
The fates have given mankind a patient soul.
I say no wealth is worth my life.
She spoke and loosened from her bosom the embroidered girdle of many colors into which all her allurements were fashioned. In it was love and int desire which steals the mind even of the wise.
I'm like that guy who single-handedly built the rocket and flew to the moon. What was his name? Apollo Creed?