There are many roads to happiness, if the gods assent.
He is gifted with genius who knoweth much by natural inspiration.
Wrapt up in error is the human mind, And human bliss is ever insecure; Know we what fortune yet remains behind? Know we how long the present shall endure?
One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.
Unsung, the noblest deed will die.
War is sweet to those who never tried it.