Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say that we devise their misery. But they themselves- in their depravity- design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.

Words empty as the wind are best left unsaid.

Many shining actions owe their success to chance, though the general or statesman receive the applause.

The tongue of man is a twisty thing, there are plenty of words there of every kind.

Not vain the weakest, if their force unite.

Immortals are never alien to one another.

Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.