The water hollows out the stone, not by force but drop by drop.

Assuredly whatsoever things are fabled to exist in deep Acheron, these all exist in this life. There is no wretched Tantalus, fearing the great rock that hangs over him in the air and frozen with vain terror. Rather, it is in this life that fear of the gods oppresses mortals without cause, and the rock they fear is any that chance may bring.

Human life lay foul before men's eyes, crushed to the dust beneath religion's weight.

Continual dropping wears away a stone.

Sweet it is, when on the high seas the winds are lashing the waters, to gaze from the land on another's struggles.

Certainly it was no design of the atoms to place themselves in a particular order, nor did they decide what motions each should have. But atoms were struck with blows in many ways and carried along by their own weight from infinite times up to the present.

Fear is the mother of all gods.