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?

May God grant me love for that which has splendor; but in this time of my life let me strive for attainable things.

If one but tell a thing well, it moves on with undying voice, and over the fruitful earth and across the sea goes the bright gleam of noble deeds ever unquenchable.

One race there is of men, one of gods, but from one mother we both draw our breath.

Mankind is a dream of a shadow.

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.

When men succeed, even their neighbors think them wise.