Pleasant it to behold great encounters of warfare arrayed over the plains, with no part of yours in peril.

So, little by little, time brings out each several thing into view, and reason raises it up into the shores of light.

A falling drop at last will carve a stone.

The nature of the universe has by no means been made through divine power, seeing how great are the faults that mar it.

I return to the newborn world, and the soft-soil fields, What their first birthing lifted to the shores Of light, and trusted to the wayward winds. First the Earth gave the shimmer of greenery And grasses to deck the hills; then over the meadows The flowering fields are bright with the color of springtime, And for all the trees that shoot into the air.

Fear is the mother of all gods.

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.