Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death

The journey is the thing.

...if fifty bands of men surrounded us/ and every sword sang for your blood,/ you could make off still with their cows and sheep.

For rarely are sons similar to their fathers: most are worse, and a few are better than their fathers.

And for yourself, may the gods grant you your heart's desire, a husband and a home, and the blessing of a harmonious life. For nothing is greater or finer than this, when a man and woman live together with one hear and mind, bringing joy to their friends and grief to their foes.

And woe succeeds woe.

All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.