Chaste is she whom no one has asked.
I too am not powerless, and my weapons strike hard.
Sleep, thou repose of all things; sleep, thou gentlest of the deities; thou peace of the mind, from which care flies; who doest soothe the hearts of men wearied with the toils of the day, and refittest them for labor.
Thus all things altered. Nothing dies. And here and there the unbodied spirit flies.
Everyone wishes that the man whom he fears would perish.
This also, that I live, I consider a gift of God.