Never to be cast away are the gifts of the gods, magnificent, which they give of their own will, no man could have them for wanting them.
The proof of battle is action, proof of words, debate. No time for speeches now, it's time to fight.
There is not any advantage to be won from grim lamentation.
It's about time trees were good for something, instead of just standing there like jerks!
Know from the bounteous heaven all riches flow.
Dreams are sent by God.
Whoever among men who walk the Earth has seen these Mysteries is blessed, but whoever in uninitiated and has not received his share of the rite, he will not have the same lot as the others, once he is dead and dwells in the mould where the sun goes down.
For I am yearning to visit the limits of the all-nurturing Earth, and Oceans, from whom the gods are sprung.
Miserable mortals who like leaves at one moment flame with life eating the produce of the land and at another moment weakly perish.
It's man's to fight, but heaven's to give success.
Nothing feebler does earth nurture than man, Of all things breathing and moving.
By turns the nine delight to sing
Even when someone battles hard, there is an equal portion for one who lingers behind, and in the same honor are held both the coward and the brave man; the idle man and he who has done much meet death alike.
I discovered a meal between breakfast and brunch.
We all scribble poetry.
A little child born yesterday A thing on mother's milk and kisses fed.
A glorious death is his, who for his country falls.
Shoulder-to-shoulder, swing to the work, we must - just two as we are - if we hope to make some headway. The worst cowards, banded together, have their power, but you and I have got the skill to fight their best.
And now I'm using sarcasm, to confess the whole thing so later I could say I already told you.
Being popular is the most important thing in the world!
O Friends, be men, and let your hearts be strong And let no warrior in the heat of fight, Do what may bring him shame in others' eyes
And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself-more birds than women flocking round his body!
The sun rose on the flawless brimming sea into a sky all brazen-all one brightening for gods immortal and for mortal men on plowlands kind with grain.
I am a part of all that I have met. Yet, experience is an arch wherethro gleams that untravl'd world whose margin fades forever and forever when I move.
And would'st thou evil for his good repay?
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