Enemies gifts are no gifts and do no good.

What greater ornament to a son than a father's glory, or to a father than a son's honorable conduct?

Is anyone in all the world safe from unhappiness?

Yet I pity the poor wretch, though he's my enemy. He's yoked to an evil delusion, but the same fate could be mine. I see clearly: we who live are all phantoms, fleeing shadows.

It is hope that maintains most of mankind.

But the power of destiny is something awesome; neither wealth, nor Ares, nor a tower, nor dark-hulled ships might escape it.

War loves to seek its victims in the young.