Trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts.
May the countryside and the gliding valley streams content me. Lost to fame, let me love river and woodland.
If I am unable to make the gods above relent, I shall move hell.
None but himself can be his parallel.
If I can not bend Heaven, I shall move Hell.
There's a snake hidden in the grass.