Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.

God help me, I'm just not that bright.

By hook or by crook this peril too shall be something that we remember

'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.

Life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor

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

These nights are endless, and a man can sleep through them, or he can enjoy listening to stories, and you have no need to go to bed before it is time. Too much sleep is only a bore. And of the others, any one whose heart and spirit urge him can go outside and sleep, and then, when the dawn shows, breakfast first, then go out to tend the swine of our master. But we two, sitting here in the shelter, eating and drinking, shall entertain each other remembering and retelling our sad sorrows. For afterwards a man who has suffered much and wandered much has pleasure out of his sorrows.