I fear the Greeks, even when they bring gifts.
These passions of soul, these conflicts so fierce, will cease, and be repressed by the casting of a little dust.
Fate will find a way.
If one swain scorns you, you will soon find another.
Let us go singing as far as we go: the road will be less tedious.
Trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts.