Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.
When you're in my house you shall do as I do and believe who I believe in. So Bart butter your bacon.
By their own follies they perished, the fools.
The man does better who runs from disaster than he who is caught by it.
I don't know how much longer I can complain.
For too much rest becomes a pain.