And now I'm using sarcasm, to confess the whole thing so later I could say I already told you.

Thus have the gods spun the thread for wretched mortals: that they live in grief while they themselves are without cares; for two jars stand on the floor of Zeus of the gifts which he gives, one of evils and another of blessings.

And here I am using my own lungs like a sucker.

Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.

I'm in a place where I don't know where I am!

Immortals are never alien to one another.

Modesty is of no use to a beggar.