Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will extends his boundless grace.
Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story
of that man skilled in all ways of contending,
the wanderer, harried for years on end.
Restrain yourself... and gloat in silence. I'll have no jubilation here. It is an impious thing to exult over the slain.
He was the loveliest born of the race of mortals, and therefore the gods caught him away to themselves, to be Zeus' wine-pourer, for the sake of his beauty, so he might be among the immortals.
Oh, look at me! I'm making people happy! I'm the Magical Man from Happy-Land, in a gumdrop house on Lollipop Lane! Oh, by the way, I was being sarcastic.
We live in a society of laws. Why do you think I took you to all those Police Academy movies? For fun? Well, I didn't hear anybody laughing, did you?
Nay if even in the house of Hades the dead forget their dead, yet will I even there be mindful of my dear comrade.
All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.
Strife, only a slight thing when she first rears her head but her head soon hits the sky as she strides across the earth.
Like that star of the waning summer who beyond all stars rises bathed in the ocean stream to glitter in brilliance.
A man's life breath cannot come back again --
no raiders in force, no trading brings it back,
once it slips through a man's clenched teeth.
Strife and Confusion joined the fight, along with cruel Death, who seized one wounded man while still alive and then another man without a wound, while pulling the feet of one more corpse out from the fight. The clothes Death wore around her shoulders were dyed red with human blood.
Why have you come to me here, dear heart, with all these instructions? I promise you I will do everything just as you ask. But come closer. Let us give in to grief, however briefly, in each other's arms.
Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Pine needle sorbet? Pine needle sorbet?! My kids do NOT eat sorbet. They eat sherbet, and they pronounce it sherbert, and they wish it was ice cream!
She spoke and loosened from her bosom the embroidered girdle of many colors into which all her allurements were fashioned. In it was love and int desire which steals the mind even of the wise.
There is satiety in all things, in sleep, and love-making, in the loveliness of singing and the innocent dance.
Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears; And instant death on every wave appears.
Now what is a wedding? Well, Webster's dictionary describes a wedding as the process of removing weeds from one's garden.
When night falls and the world lies lost in sleep,
I take to my bed, my heart throbbing, about to break,
anxieties swarming, piercing--I may go mad with grief.
You never know when an old calendar might come in handy! Sure, it's not 1985 right now, but who knows what tomorrow will bring?
It's disgraceful how these humans blame the gods. They say their tribulations come from us, when they themselves, through their own foolishness, bring hardships which are not decreed by Fate.
My mother Thetis tells me that there are two ways in which I may meet my end. If I stay here and fight, I will not return alive but my name will live forever: whereas if I go home my name will die, but it will be long ere death shall take me.
Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death all things appear fair.
Fear, O Achilles, the wrath of heaven; think on your own father and have compassion upon me, who am the more pitiable.
No one can hurry me down to Hades before my time, but if a man's hour is come, be he brave or be he coward, there is no escape for him when he has once been born.
He lives not long who battles with the immortals, nor do his children prattle about his knees when he has come back from battle and the dread fray.
I should rather labor as another's serf, in the home of a man without fortune, one whose livelihood was meager, than rule over all the departed dead.
Down the dank mouldering paths and past the Ocean's streams they went
and past the White Rock and the Sun's Western Gates and past
the Land of Dreams, and soon they reached the fields of asphodel
where the dead, the burnt-out wraiths of mortals make their home.
I too seemed destined to be a man of fortune once
and a wild wicked swath I cut, indulged my lust for violence,
stalking all on my father and my brothers.
Look at me now,
And so, I say, let no man ever be lawless all his life,
just take in peace what gifts the gods will send.
You know those balls that they put on car antennas so you can find them in the parking lot? Those should be on every car!
Rather I'd choose laboriously to bear A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air, A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread, Than reign the sceptred monarch of the dead.
Reproach is infinite, and knows no end.
Reproach is infinite, and knows no end So voluble a weapon is the tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail For every man has equal strength to rail.
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.
Remember that postcard Grandpa sent us from Florida of that Alligator biting that woman's bottom? That's right, we all thought it was hilarious. But, it turns out we were wrong. That alligator was sexually harassing that woman.
One who journeying Along a way he knows not, having crossed A place of drear extent, before him sees A river rushing swiftly toward the deep, And all its tossing current white with foam, And stops and turns, and measures back his way.
Many shining actions owe their success to chance, though the general or statesman receive the applause.
For I am yearning to visit the limits of the all-nurturing Earth, and Oceans, from whom the gods are sprung.
Now from the smooth deep ocean-stream the sun
Began to climb the heavens, and with new rays
Smote the surrounding fields.
Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.
If you don't like your job, you don't strike! You just go in every day, and do it really half assed. That's the American way.
Wine sets even a thoughtful man to singing, or sets him into softly laughing, sets him to dancing. Sometimes it tosses out a word that was better unspoken.
It is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine that sets the wisest man to sing at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool -- it drives the man to dancing... it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.
When two men are together, one of them may see some opportunity which the other has not caught sight of; if a man is alone he is less full of resource, and his wit is weaker.
The gods, likening themselves to all kinds of strangers, go in various disguises from city to city, observing the wrongdoing and the righteousness of men.
I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.
And when long years and seasons wheeling brought around that point of time ordained for him to make his passage homeward, trials and dangers, even so, attended him even in Ithaca, near those he loved.
What a lamentable thing it is that men should blame the gods and regard us as the source of their troubles, when it is their own wickedness that brings them sufferings worse than any which destiny allots them.
You will certainly not be able to take the lead in all things yourself, for to one man a god has given deeds of war, and to another the dance, to another lyre and song, and in another wide-sounding Zeus puts a good mind.
One man is a splendid fighter -- a god has made him so -- one's a dancer, another skilled at lyre and song, and deep in the next man's chest farseeing Zeus plants the gift of judgment, good clear sense. And many reap the benefits of that treasure.
Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.
Proud is the spirit of Zeus-fostered kings -- their honor comes from Zeus, and Zeus, god of council, loves them.
Thus have the gods spun the thread for wretched mortals: that they live in grief while they themselves are without cares; for two jars stand on the floor of Zeus of the gifts which he gives, one of evils and another of blessings.
The gods granted us misery, in jealousy over the thought that we two, always together, should enjoy our youth, and then come to the threshold of old age.
She sent him a warm and gentle wind, and Lord Odysseus was happy as he set his sails to catch the breeze. He sat beside the steering oar and used his skill to steer the raft.
The son of Saturn gave The nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curls Upon the Sovereign One's immortal head Were shaken, and with them the mighty mount, Olympus trembled.
The other day, I was so desperate for a beer, I snuck into the football stadium and ate the dirt under the bleachers.
My wife's not some doobie to be passed around! I took a vow on our wedding day to bogart her for life.
The blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.
The young fool might have known his prayers were doomed to fail. Achilles was not kind or tender-hearted, but a man of fierce passions.
Now they made all secure in the fast black ship,
and, setting out the wine bowls all a-brim,
they made libation to the gods,
the undying, the ever-new,
most of all to the grey-eyed daughter of Zeus.
And the prow sheared through the night into the dawn.
(Translation by Robert Fitzgerald 1961).
For I say there is no other thing that is worse than the sea is for breaking a man, even though he may a very strong one.
On these sands and in the clefts of the rocks, in the depths of the sea, in the creaking of the pines, you'll spy secret footprints and catch far-off voices from the homecoming celebration. This land still longs for Odysseus.
Young men's minds are always changeable, but when an old man is concerned in a matter, he looks both before and after.
If you're gonna get mad at me every time I do something stupid, then I guess I'll just have to stop doing stupid things.
The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.
Yea, and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep,
even so I will endure…
For already have I suffered full much,
and much have I toiled in perils of waves and war.
Let this be added to the tale of those.
But now, as it is, sorrows, unending sorrows must surge within your heart as well--for your own son's death. Never again will you embrace him stiding home. My spirit rebels--I've lost the will to live, to take my stand in the world of men--.
Let him submit to me! Only the god of death is so relentless, Death submits to no one--so mortals hate him most of all the gods. Let him bow down to me! I am the greater king, I am the elder-born, I claim--the greater man.
You, why are you so afraid of war and slaughter? Even if all the rest of us drop and die around you, grappling for the ships, you'd run no risk of death: you lack the heart to last it out in combat--coward!
Come then, put away your sword in its sheath, and let us two go up into my bed so that, lying together in the bed of love, we may then have faith and trust in each other.
Ruin, eldest daughter of Zeus, she blinds us all, that fatal madness--she with those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, gliding over the heads of men to trap us all. She entangles one man, now another.
Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you -- it's born with us the day that we are born.
There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible--magic to make the sanest man go mad.
Without question it may be said of Vancouver that her position, geographically, is Imperial to a degree, that her possibilities are enormous, and that with but a feeble stretch of the imagination those possibilities might wisely be deemed certainties.
There is nothing more admirable than when two people who see eye to eye keep house as man and wife, confounding their enemies and delighting their friends.
Goddess-nurse of the young, give ear to my prayer, and grant that this woman may reject the love-embraces of youth and dote on grey-haired old men whose powers are dulled, but whose hearts still desire.
Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off--all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That's how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.
Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.
You are indeed a man of sorrows and have suffered much...pray be seated now, here on this chair, and let us leave our sorrows, bitter though they are, locked up in our own hearts, for weeping is cold comfort and does little good.
To have a great man for an intimate friend seems pleasant to those who have never tried it; those who have, fear it.
Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.
Two urns on Jove's high throne have ever stood, the source of evil one, and one of good; from thence the cup of mortal man he fills, blessings to these, to those distributes ills; to most he mingles both.