Maybe one day we shall be glad to remember even these hardships.
Who asks whether the enemy was defeated by strategy or valor?
If I am unable to make the gods above relent, I shall move hell.
In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom.
Each man is led by his own liking.
These passions of soul, these conflicts so fierce, will cease, and be repressed by the casting of a little dust.