Point thy tongue on the anvil of truth.
Sweet is war to those who know it not.
Mother of the Sun, Theia of many names, for your sake men honor gold as more powerful than anything else; and through the value you bestow on them, o queen, ships contending on the sea and yoked teams of horses in swift-whirling contests become marvels.
One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.
The present will not long endure.
War is sweet to those who never tried it.